Skip to main content

Full text of "Chaucer and his England"

See other formats 


RIEBER  HALL  LIBRARY 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/chaucerhisenglanOOcouliala 


CHAUCER   AND    HIS    ENGLAND 


BY  THE   SAME   AUTHOR 

FROM   ST.   FRANCIS   TO   DANTE. 

[Duckworth  &  Co.     125.  6d.  net. 

"A  more  enlightening  picture  than  any  we  have  yet 
read." — Times. 

"It  will,  I  hope,  be  read  by  every  one  who  wants  to 
know  what  the  Middle  Ages  were  really  like." — Dr. 
Kashdai.L  in  Independent  Revuiu. 

"  Extraordinarily  vivacious,  fresh,  and  vivid." — Mr.  C. 
F.  G.  Masterman,  M.P.,  in  Speaker. 

FRIAR'S   LANTERN  :    A  Mediaeval  Fantasia. 

[Jas.  Clarke  &  Co.    y.  6d.  net. 
••Written  with  undeniable  ability." — Times. 
"Worthy  of  a  place  beside  the  '  Cloister  and  the  Hearth  ' 
as  a  true  work  of  art." — Commonwealth. 

FATHER   RHINE;   with  14  Illustrations. 

[J.  M.  Dent  &  Co.     2J.  bd.  net. 
'•This  is  a  very  pleasant  book  of  journeying." — Spectator, 

PUBLIC   SCHOOLS   AND   PUBLIC   NEEDS. 

[Simpkin  Marshall  iS;  Co.     2J.  not. 
"  If  llie  '  man  in  (lie  street,'  who  and  whoever  he  be,  will 
t.ikc  the   lroul>le  to   read  it,   his   eyo  will   be  oi)encd." — 
Times. 

•MEDI/EVAL    STUDIES:    Seven    Essays    mostly    re- 
printed from  the  monthly  and  quarterly  reviews. 

ISimpkin  M.iibh.ill  iS:  Co.      y.  bJ.  lU'l. 


t 


S>     ^  '^ •     *•     E     55 

t^   ^   ^   ^  ^<^  2 


i2- 


.^    K 


C    ^^    IS 


s^ 


o^  ;:  ^  ^   g  r -^ 


r^^<|.f 


^r. 


^  p  i  - 


1  --»«' 


CHAUCER  AND  HIS 
ENGLAND 


BY 

G.  G.  COULTON    M.A. 

AUTHOR   OF 
"FROM   ST.    FRANCIS  TO   DANTE,"    ETC. 


WITH    THIRTY-TWO    ILLUSTRATIONS 


SECOND    EDITION 


METHUEN   &   CO. 

36    ESSEX    STREET   W.C. 

LONDON 


First  Published    .     .      September  loth  igoS 
Second  Edition /909 


Kieber  Hall, 

Library  SRIF 

PA  t/RL 

185 


^^^^  O  ^/ 


723f3?^ 


PREFACE 

"^"O  book  of  this  size  can  pretend  to  treat  exhaustively 
of  all  that  concerns  Chaucer  and  his  England ; 
but  the  Author's  main  aim  has  been  to  supply  an 
informal  historical  commentary  on  the  poet's  works. 
He  has  not  hesitated,  in  a  book  intended  for  the  general 
public,  to  modernize  Chaucer's  spelling,  or  even  on  rare 
occasions  to  change  a  word. 

His  best  acknowledgments  are  due  to  those  who 
have  laboured  so  fruitfully  during  the  last  fifty  years 
in  publishing  Chaucerian  gnd  other  original  documents 
of  the  later  Middle  Ages ;  more  especially  to  Dr.  F.  J. 
Furnivall,  the  indefatigable  founder  of  the  Chaucer 
Society  and  the  Early  English  Text  Society;  to  Professor 
W.  W.  Skeat,  whose  ungrudging  generosity  in  private 
help  is  necessarily  known  only  to  a  small  percentage 
of  those  who  have  been  aided  by  his  printed  works ; 
to  Dr.  R;  R.  Sharpe,  archivist  of  the  London  Guildhall ; 
to  Prebendary  F.  C.  Hingeston-Randolph  and  other 
editors  of  Episcopal  Registers ;  to  Messrs.  W.  Hudson 
and  Walter  Rye  for  their  contributions  to  Norfolk 
history;  and  to  Mr.  V.  B.  Redstone's  researches  in 
Chaucerian  genealogy.  His  proofs  have  enjoyed  the 
great  advantage  of  revision  by  Dr.  Furnivall,  who  has 
made  many  valuable  suggestions  and  corrections,  but 
who  is  in  no  way  responsible  for  other  possible  errors 
or  omissions.  The  many  debts  to  other  writers  are, 
it  is  hoped,  duly  acknowledged  in  their  places ;  but 
the  Author  must  here  confess  himself  specially  be- 
holden to  the  writings  of  M.  Jusserand,  whose  rare 
b 


vi       CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

sympathy  and  insight  are  combined  with  an  equal  charm 
of  exposition. 

He  has  also  to  thank  Dr.  F.  J.  Furnivall,  Messrs. 
E.  Kelsey  and  H.  R.  Browne  of  Eastbourne,  and  the 
Librarian  of  Uppingham  School,  for  kind  permission  to 
reproduce  seven  of  the  illustrations ;  also  the  Editor  of 
the  Home  and  Counties  Magazine  for  similar  courtesy 
with  regard  to  the  plan  of  Chaucer's  Aldgate  included 
in  a  16th-century  survey  published  for  the  first  time 
in  that  magazine  (vol.  i.  p.  50). 

Eastbourne 


PREFACE   TO    SECOND    EDITION 

"\\/^HILE  correcting  for  this  Second  Edition  a  few 
obscure  sentences  or  too  unqualified  statements 
which  I  have  to  thank  my  reviewers  for  noting,  I  must 
also,  in  the  light  of  more  far-reaching  criticisms,  explain 
my  main  purpose  more  clearly.  This  is  hardly  the 
place  to  argue  with  a  critic  who  brands  me  with  anti- 
clericalism  for  emphasizing  essential  facts  too  often 
distorted  or  ignored  by  clerical  historians,  or  who 
laments  my  imperfect  artistic  sense  because  I  abstain 
from  summarizing,  for  the  hundredth  time,  the  judgments 
of  Ruskin  and  Morris,  thinking  it  more  useful  to  qualify 
than  to  repeat  their  well-known  words,  and  holding 
with  them  that  life  is  more  than  art.  But  Mr.  G.  K. 
Chesterton,  in  a  generous  review,  has  given  such 
brilliant  expression  to  more  serious  objections  which  I 
had  already  felt  in  the  air,  that  I  welcome  this  oppor- 
tunity of  meeting  them.*  He  points  out — and  I  am 
grateful  to  him  as  the  first  of  my  reviewers  who  has 
put  this  into  words — that  "  every  criticism  of  the  four- 
teenth century  ought  to  be  also  a  criticism  of  the 
twentieth."  He  contends,  however,  that  my  favourable 
conclusions  encourage  modern  'pharisaism,  and  are  in 
fact  too  indulgent  to  our  own  century. 

The  first  I  entirely  deny,  except  so  far  as  all  con- 
sciousness of  improvement  must  carry  with  it  a 
corresponding  temptation  to  pride.  There  is  no  more 
essential  pharisaism  in  thanking  God  that  our  lot  has 
been  cast  in  this  and  no  earlier  age,  than  in  the  memor- 

*  Daily  News,  Oct.  i6th,  iyo8. 


viii  CHAUCER    AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

able,  There,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  goes  Richard  Baxter  ! 
It  is  simply  to  recognize  that  the  world  is  not  an  over- 
ripe apple  rotting  to  its  fall,  but  a  living  organism,  part 
and  parcel  of  an  infinitely  marvellous  universe,  and 
most  marvellous  itself  in  its  eternal  youth.  To 
emphasize  the  superiority  of  our  century  is  to  boast 
not  our  own  righteousness,  but  the  righteous  and 
enduring  work  of  eighteen  honest  generations — work 
which  we  in  our  turn  must  strenuously  urge  forward, 
or  be  branded  as  sluggards  and  cowards.  Christ  blamed 
the  Pharisee  not  for  presuming  to  make  true  com- 
parisons, but  for  ignoring  inconvenient  facts.  Mr. 
Chesterton,  however,  assures  me  that  I  do  ignore  the 
world  in  which  I  live.  If  so,  it  is  certainly  not  for  want 
of  knocking  about  in  it  during  the  past  fifty  years  ;  but 
I  assumed  in  my  readers  some  knowledge  of  General 
Booth's  and  Mr.  Rowntree's  revelations  ;  nor  was  it  my 
business  to  supplement  these  from  personal  experiences 
among  colliers  in  South  Wales,  and  refugee  Jews  in 
Whitechapel.  In  comparing  modern  heroes  with  their 
medieval  forefathers  I  take  account  of  backstairs  gossip 
in  both  cases,  though  I  do  not  always  quote  it.  Mr. 
Chesterton  makes  the  common  but  fatal  mistake  of 
supposing  that,  because  medieval  chroniclers  tell  us 
very  queer  things,  they  therefore  tell  us  all.*  The 
fallacy  is  specious,  but  so  acute  a  critic  might  well  have 
remembered  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague's  famous 
Ah  !  si  vans  ponvicz  voir  mcs  picds  !  Simeon  Luce,  who 
knew  Froissart's  text  and  contemporary  official  docu- 
ments probably  better  than  any  man  before  or  since, 
and  who  certainly  did  not  undervalue  medieval  civiliza- 
tion, was  yet  constrained  to  point  out  how  dark  a  side 
there  is  behind  the  chronicler's  revelations,  t 

•  "  In  short,  tlie  other  great  merit  of  tlie  Middle  Ages,  as  compared 
witli  to-day,  is  that  its  chroniclers  had  a  habit  of  telling  the  truth  ;  and 
that  (like  all  really  truthful  men)  they  thought  telling  '  the  whole  truth' 
more  important  even  than  telling  'nothing  but  the  truth.'" 

t  Uisl.  dc  Ikitiand  Du  Giicsclin,  1S83,  p.  139.     l.ucc  ends,  "  Voila  Ic 


PREFACE  TO   SECOND   EDITION  ix 

Again,  Mr.  Chesterton  so  completely  misunderstands 
an  expression  of  mine  on  p.  258  that  I  fear  it  may  have 
misled  other  readers.  I  never  dreamed  of  saying  that 
the  modern  tramp  does  not  envy,  or  ought  not  to  envy, 
the  millionaire :  I  simply  doubt  whether  it  is  possible 
to  envy  him  appreciably  more  than  the  medieval  poor 
envied  an  upstart  merchant ;  a  man  who  had  more  ready 
money  than  any  duke,  and  probably  wore  a  duke's  ran- 
som visibly  on  his  person.  To  accept  Mr.  Chesterton's 
own  illustration  and  press  it  to  its  logical  conclusion,  I 
should  say  that  if  one  man  were  "  putting  away  pate-de- 
foie-gras  and  champagne  "  on  a  raft  filled  with  starving 
castaways,  while  another  man  enjoyed  beefsteak  and 
porter  under  similar  circumstances,  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible in  human  nature  that  the  one  should  excite  more 
envy  than  the  other.  If  the  modern  poor  are  more 
discontented  than  their  fathers,  this  is  generally  not 
because  they  are  worse  off,  but  because  they  have 
already  enjoyed  a  real  improvement  and  therefore 
struggle,  naturally  enough,  for  more. 

Finally,  Mr.  Chesterton  presses  upon  me,  in  con- 
nexion with  p.  256,  an  argument  which  might  seem  mere 
paradox  to  any  one  who  could  believe  him  capable  of 
letting  off  such  dangerous  fireworks.  "  One  of  the  sins 
of  our  time  is  that  the  classes  have  been  sundered  by 
something  worse  than  hatred — shyness,  which  is  a  shame- 
ful fear."  These  words  which  I  have  italicized  are  so 
essential  to  his  contention,  and  yet  seem  to  me  to 
falsify  so  fatally  a  very  true  sentence,  that  I  venture  to 
ask  seriously  (even  though  he  may  smile  at  my  naivete 
in  taking  him  so  literally):  Is  it  possible  in  human  nature 
to  pass  froni  open  hate  to  sincere  love  without  a  long 
intervening  period  of  shyness  ?  "  Chaucer's  Knight 
talks  and  laughs  with  every  class  in  England,  not  only 
without  embarrassment  but  without  condescension,  as 
if  it  were  quite  natural  that  they  should  mix.    A  modern 

vilain  revers  de  cette  chevalerie  affblee  de  luxe,  de  tournois,  de  parade 
dont  Froissart  n'a  voulu  voir  que  les  prouesses  et  les  elegances.'' 


X  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

gentleman  would  feel  as  a  modern  gentleman  feels  alone 
with  a  housemaid."  This  is  only  an.  infinitely  wittier 
statement  of  a  truth  which  I  had  tried  to  express  else- 
where ;  but  there  is  a  whole  world  between  this  and 
the  conclusions  Mr.  Chesterton  would  draw  from  it.  If, 
on  the  whole,  mankind  has  gone  forward  in  the  last  five 
hundred  years — and  it  is  strange  that  the  men  who 
claim  to  speak  for  Christendom  should  seem  to  doubt 
most  desperately  of  this  world  which  Christ  died  to 
save — if,  on  the  whole  we  have  gone  forward,  then  we 
can  afford  to  be  less  impatient  of  our  own  very  imperfect 
age,  remembering  that  the  Apostle  collocates  patience 
with  perfect  work.  Pending  the  discovery  of  a  North- 
West  Passage  to  the  abolition  of  class  distinctions  and 
poverty,  it  really  does  seem  worth  while  to  point  out 
that  the  problems  which  we  blame  each  successive 
generation  for  not  solving  have  in  fact  become  a  few 
degrees  less  hopeless  since  the  days  of  "  Merrie 
England;"  and  that  we  may  truly  apply  to  different 
generations  what  Professor  James'  wise  carpenter  said 
about  man  and  man  :  thcre^s  very  little  difference  betivecn 
one  and  another ;  but  that  little  difference  is  very  important. 
It  is  probable  that,  in  condemning  our  modern  shyness  as 
worse  than  the  old  hate,  Mr.  Chesterton  only  means  that 
the  former  is  more  trying  to  the  temper.  This  may  well 
be  :  shyness  is  indeed  the  very  devil ;  but  courai^e,  I'anii, 
Ic  diahle  est  nwrt !  and  if  liberty  and  equality  are  indeed 
growing,  then  true  fraternity  cannot  fail  to  grow  with 
them.  Let  us  therefore  possess  our  souls,  even  though 
the  modern  Marquis  of  Carabas  may  refuse  to  rub 
shoulders  with  us  on  a  Canterbury  Pilgrimage,  fearing 
lest  this  condescension  might  encourage  us  to  beg  for  a 
day  among  his  j)licasants.  Sufficient  to  the  day  is  the 
good  thereof;  it  is  something  that  we  may  now  drive 
the  peer's  pigeons  from  our  crops  without  desperate 
risk  of  life  or  limb;  or  that  he  and  his  foresters  are 
no  longer  tempted  to  flesh  their  arrows  in  our  quiver- 
ing   bodies.      There    is    much     sound     philosophy-    in 


PREFACE   TO   SECOND   EDITION  xi 

Figaro's  je  me  cms  trap  heiireiix  d'en  ctre  oublie ;  persuade 
qu'un  grand  nous  fait  assez  de  bien,  quand  il  ne  nous  fait 
pas  de  mat. 

I  am  told  that  some  readers  have  been  puzzled  by  the  frequent 
marginal  notes  in  square  brackets  (as  on  p.  37).  These  are  added  to 
explain  the  obsolete  words  in  certain  quotations:  e.g.  luent  =  glade ; 
fele  —  inaity,  etc.,  etc. 

Two  important  references  have  come  to  hand  too  late  for  insertion  in 
the  body  of  this  Second  Edition. 

(i)  The  reader  who  wishes  to  follow  all  that  is  known  about  Chaucer's 
ancestry  and  relations  must  now  refer  to  the  exhaustive  and  most 
interesting  article  on  pp.  243,  foil.,  of  Mr.  V.  B.  Redstone's  "  Memorials  of 
Old  Suffolk,"  just  pubUshed  by  Bemrose  &  Son. 

(2)  Nicolas  held  that  the  town  of  "  Retters,"  before  which  Chaucer 
testified  to  having  seen  Sir  Richard  Scrope  during  his  unlucky  campaign 
(see  p.  26  of  this  book),  was  Rdtiers  in  Brittany  ;  but  modern  biographers 
have  preferred  to  identify  it  with  R(^thel  in  the  Ardennes.  The  truth  of 
this  last  conjecture  is  put  beyond  doubt  by  the  account  of  that  campaign 
in  Sir  Thomas  Gray's  Scalacronica  (Maitland  Club,  1836,  p.  188),  which 
mentions  that  the  Black  Prince's  column  was  beaten  off  from  "  Retieris," 
but  forced  a  passage  at  Chateau-Porcien,  which  is  in  fact  close  by 
Rdlhel.     Chaucer  therefore  served  in  the  Black  Prince's  column. 

Eastbourne 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PREFACE      V 

PREFACE  TO  SECOND   EDITION vii 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS xvii 

CHAPTER   I 

YOUNG   ENGLAND I 

CHAPTER   II 

BOYHOOD   AND  YOUTH 12 

CHAPTER    III 
THE   KING'S  SQUIRE 2$ 

CHAPTER   IV 

THE  AMBASSADOR 36 

CHAPTER  V 

THE  MAN  OF   BUSINESS 5 1 

CHAPTER   VI 
LAST  DAYS 64 

CHAPTER   VII 
LONDON  CUSTOM-HOUSE 76 

CHAPTER   VIII 
ALDGATE  TOWER 93 


xiv  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

CHAPTER   IX   » 

PAGE 

TOWN   AND  COUNTRY .  .      I04 

CHAPTER  X 

THE   LAWS  OF  LONDON II9 

CHAPTER  XI 

"canterbury  tales" — THE   DRAMATIS  PERSON. K        .  .  .137 

CHAPTER  XII 

"canterbury  tales" — FIRST  AND   SECOND   DAYS  .  .  •      '51 

CHAPTER   XIII 
"canterbury  TALES" — THIRD  AND    FOURTH   DAYS        .  .  .      160 

CHAPTER  XIV 

KING  AND  QUEEN 173 

CHAPTER   XV 
KNIGHTS  AND  SQUIRES 1 88 

CHAPTER   XVI 
HUSBANDS  AT  THE  CHURCH   DOOR 202 

CHAPTER   XVII 

THE   GAY  SCIENCE 217 

CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  GREAT   WAR 032 

CHAI'TER    XIX 

THE   r.URDEN   OF  THE   WAR ^45 

CHAPTER   XX 
THE   POOR -.c- 


CONTENTS  XV 

CHAPTER   XXI 

PAGE 

MERRY  ENGLAND 272 

CHAPTER   XXII 

THE   king's  peace 282 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

PRIESTS  AND  PEOPLE 294 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

CONCLUSION 304 

INDEX 317 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  THE  TEXT 


PAGE 

MEDIEVAL  COCK-FIGHTING,  ACTUAL  AND   METAPHORICAL      .  .        l8 

From  StriiU s  "  Spor's  and  Pastimes  " 

PLANS  OF   MEDIEVAL   DWELLINGS 97 

MEDIEVAL   MUMMERS IIO 

From  Strati's  "Sports  and  Pastimes " 

PILGRIMS   IN    BED   AT   INN 139 

From  T.   Wright's  "  Homes  of  otiicr  Days  " 

THE  SQUIRE  OF  THE  "CANTERBURY   TALES"  ....      146 

From  the  Ellesmere  MS.  {i^th  century) 

THE   MILLER         .  .  • 150 

Fro)n  the  Ellesmere  MS. 

THE  WIFE  OF   BATH 162 

From  the  Ellesmere  MS. 

THE   FRIAR 165 

From  the  Ellesmeir  MS. 

PEACOCK   FEAST  OF   LYNN 1 77 

From  Stothard's  Facsimile  of  the  Original  Brass 

A   KNIGHT  AND   HIS   LADY 203 

From  Bo II tell s  "  A/onumental  Brasses  " 

A   BEVY  OF   LADIES 220 

From  T.   Wright's  "  Womankind  in  Western  Europe" 


xviii  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 


LIST   OF    PLATES 

THE  HOCCLEVE  PORTRAIT  OF  CHAUCER  .        .        .       Frontispiece 

From  the  Painting  in  "  The  Regement  of  Princes  " 

FACING    PAGE 

LONDON    BRIDGE,    ETC.,    IN   THE    i6tH   CENTURY  .  .  -IS 

From  Vert  lie's  Engraving  of  Aggas'  s  Map 

WESTMINSTER   HALL  .  .         ' 32 

From  a  Photograph  by  J.  Valentine  6=  Suns 

A   TRAVELLING   CARRIAGE 35 

From  i/ie  Loutercll  Psalter 

WESTMINSTER   ABBEY  AND   PALACE   IN   THE    i6TH   CENTURY  .        72 

From  Vertue's  Engraving  of  Aggas's  Map 

WESTMINSTER   ABBEY 73 

From  a  Photograph  by  S.  B,  Bolas  b'  Co. 

THE   TOWER,   WITH    LONDON    BRIDGE    IN   THE   BACKGROUND.  .        82 

From  MS.  Roy.  i6  F.  ii.f.  73 

A   TOOTH-DRAWER   OF   THE    I4TH   CENTURY 92 

From  MS.  Roy.  VI.  E.  6,  /  5036 

ALDGATE      AND      ITS      SURROUNDINGS,     AS      RECONSTITUTED      IN 

W.  NEWTON'S  "LONDON   IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME"        .  .  .      lOI 

A   PARTY   OF   PILGRIMS 1 48 

From  MS.  Roy.  18  D.  ii.J.  148 

CANTERBURY 170 

From  W.  Smith's  Drawing  of  i^Z%.     (Sloane  MS.  2^<^) 

EDWARD   III 173 

From  his  Tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey 

PHILIPPA   OF   HAINAULT 181 

From  her  Tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey 

SIR   GEOFFREY   LOUTERELL,   WITH    HIS   WIFE   AND    DAUGHTER        .       194 
From  the  iMuterell  Psalter  {Early  i^th  Century) 

SEAL  OF   UPPINGHAM    SCHOOL 2l6 

CORPORAL  PUNISHMENT   IN   A    I4TH    CENTURY   CLASSROOM     .  .      2l6 

•       From  MS.  Roy.  VI.  E.  6./.  214 

WILLIAM   OF    HATFIELD,   SON   OF   EDWARD    III.   AND    PHILIPPA         .      224 
From  his  Tomb  in  York  .Minster  (1336) 


LIST   OF   PLATES  xix 

'  FACING    TAGE 

BODIAM   CASTLE,   KENT 245 

THE  PLOUGHMAN 268 

From  the  Louterell  Psalter  (Early  i^t/t  Century) 

THE  CLERGY-HOUSE  AT  ALFRISTON,  SUSSEX,  BEFORE   ITS  RECENT 

RESTORATION 298 

WESTMINSTER  ABBEY— VIEW   FROM   NEAR   CHAUCER'S  TOMB            .  313 
From  a  Photograph  by  S.  B.  Bolas  &"  Co.                                                , 


CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 


CHAPTER   I 
YOUNG  ENGLAND 

"  O  born  in  days  when  wits  were  fresh  and  clear, 
And  life  ran  gaily  as  the  sparkling  Thames  !  " 

FEW  men  could  lay  better  claim  than  Chaucer  to 
this  happy  accident  of  birth  with  which  Matthew 
Arnold  endows  his  Scholar  Gipsy,  if  we  refrain  from 
pressing  too  literally  the  poet's  fancy  of  a  Golden  Age. 
Chaucer's  times  seemed  sordid  enough  to  many  good 
and  great  men  who  lived  in  them ;  but  few  ages  of  the 
world  have  been  better  suited  to  nourish  such  a  genius, 
or  can  afford  a  more  delightful  travelling-ground  for  us 
of  the  20th  century.  There  is  indeed  a  glory  over  the 
distant  past  which  is  (in  spite  of  the  paradox)  scarcely 
less  real  for  being  to  a  great  extent  imaginary  ;  scarcely 
less  true  because  it  owes  so  much  to  the  beholder's  eye. 
It  is  like  the  subtle  charm  we  feel  every  time  we  set 
foot  afresh  on  a  foreign  shore.  It  is  just  because  we 
should  never  dream  of  choosing  France  or  Germany  for 
our  home  that  we  love  them  so  much  for  our  holidays ; 
it  is  just  because  we  are  so  deeply  rooted  in  our  own 
age  that  we  find  so  much  pleasure  and  profit  in  the  past, 
where  we  may  build  for  ourselves  a  new  heaven  and  a 
new  earth  out  of  the  wreck  of  a  vanished  world.  The 
very  things  which  would  oppress  us  out  of  all  propor- 
tion as  present-day  realities  dwindle  to  even  less  than 
their  real  significance  in  the  long  perspective  of  history. 


2  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

All  the  oppressions  that  were  then  done  under  the  sun, 
and  the  tears  of  such  as  were  oppressed,  show  very 
small  in  the  sum-total  of  things ;  the  ancient  tale  of 
wrong  has  little  meaning  to  us  who  repose  so  far  above 
it  all ;  the  real  landmarks  are  the  great  men  who  for  a 
moment  moulded  the  world  to  their  own  will,  or  those 
still  greater  who  kept  themselves  altogether  unspotted 
from  it.  Human  nature  gives  the  lie  direct  to  Mark 
Antony's  bitter  rhetoric :  it  is  rather  the  good  that 
lives  after  a  man,  and  the  evil  that  is  oft  interred  with 
his  bones.  The  balance  may  not  be  very  heavy,  but  it 
is  on  the  right  side ;  man's  insatiable  curiosity  about 
his  fellow-men  is  as  natural  as  his  appetite  for  food, 
which  may  on  the  whole  be  trusted  to  refuse  the  evil 
and  choose  the  good;  and,  in  both  cases,  his  taste  is, 
within  obvious  limits,  a  true  guide.  It  is  a  healthy 
instinct  which  prompts  us  to  dwell  on  the  beauties  of 
an  ancient  timber-built  house,  or  on  the  gorgeous 
pageantry  of  the  Middle  Ages,  without  a  too  curious 
scrutiny  of  what  may  lie  under  the  surface ;  and  at  this 
distance  the  14th  century  stands  out  to  the  modern 
eye  with  a  clearness  and  brilliancy  which  few  men  can 
see  in  their  own  age,  or  even  in  that  immediate  past 
which  must  always  be  partially  dimmed  with  the  dust 
of  present-day  conflicts.  Those  who  were  separated  by 
only  a  few  generations  from  the  Middle  Ages  could 
seldom  judge  them  with  sufficient  sympathy.  Even 
two  hundred  years  ago,  most  Englishmen  thought  of 
that  time  as  a  great  forest  from  which  we  had  not  long 
emerged;  they  looked  back  and  saw  it  in  imagination 
as  Dante  saw  the  dark  wood  of  his  own  wanderings — 
bitter  as  death,  cruel  as  the  perilous  sea  from  which  a 
spent  swimmer  has  just  struggled  out  upon  the  shore. 
Then,  with  Goethe  and  Scott,  came  the  Romantic  Re- 
vival ;  and  these  men  showed  us  the  Middle  Ages 
peopled  with  living  creatures — beasts  of  prey,  indeed, 
in  very  many  cases,  but  always  bright  and  swift  and 
attractive,  as  wild  beasts  are  in  comparison  with  the 


YOUNG   ENGLAND  3 

commonplace  stock  of  our  fields  and  farmyards — bright 
in  themselves,  and  heightened  in  colour  by  the  artificial 
brilliancy  which  perspective  gives  to  all  that  we  see 
through  the  wrong  end  of  a  telescope.  Since  then  men 
have  turned  the  other  end  of  the  telescope  on  medieval 
society,  and  now,  in  due  course,  the  microscope,  with 
many  curious  results.  But  it  is  always  good  to  balance 
our  too  detailed  impressions  with  a  general  survey,  and 
to  take  a  brief  holiday  by  quitting  the  world  in  which 
our  own  daily  work  has  to  be  done,  and  entering 
another  peopled  by  a  race  of  men  so  unlike  the  modern 
English,  even  amid  all  their  general  resemblance. 

For  the  England  of  Edward  III.  was  already,  in 
its  main  national  features,  the  England  in  which  we 
live  to-day.  "In  no  country  of  Europe  are  the  present- 
day  institutions  and  manners  and  beliefs  so  directly 
derived  from  the  social  state  of  five  centuries  ago."* 
The  year  1340,  which  saw  the  abolition  of  the  law  of 
Englishry,  was  very  likely  the  exact  year  of  Chaucer's 
birth ;  and  from  that  time  forward  our  legislation  ceased 
to  recognize  any  distinction  of  races :  all  natives  of 
England  were  alike  Englishmen.  Sixteen  years  later  it 
was  first  enacted  that  cases  in  the  Sheriff's  Courts  of 
London  should  be  pleaded  in  English ;  seven  years  later, 
again,  this  became  in  theory  the  language  not  only  of  the 
King's  law  courts,  but  also  to  some  extent  of  Parliament ; 
and  Nicolas  quotes  an  amusing  instance  of  two  am- 
bassadors to  France,  a  Knight  and  a  Doctor  of  Laws, 
who  confessed  in  1404  "we  are  as  ignorant  of  French  as 
of  Hebrew."  The  contemporary  Trevisa  apparently 
attributes  this  rapid  breakdown  to  the  Great  Pestilence 
of  1349;  but  even  before  this  the  French  language  must 
have  been  in  full  decay  among  us,  for  at  the  Parliament 

*  See  Jusserand,  "  Hist.  Litt.,"  L.  III.,  ch.  i.,  and  the  Preface  to  his 
"  Vie  Nomade  "  ;  also  chap.  xix.  of  Prof.  Tout's  volume  in  the  "  Political 
Hist,  of  Engd."  It  is  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  since  Tyrwhitt 
showed,  by  abundant  quotations,  the  stages  by  which  English  fought  its 
way  to  final  recognition  as  the  national  language. 


4  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

which  Edward  III.  called  in  1337  to  advise  him  about 
declaring  war  on  France,  the  ambassador  of  Robert 
d'Artois  took  care  to  speak  "in  English,  in  order  to  be 
understanded  of  all  folk,  for  a  man  ever  knoweth  better 
what  he  would  say  and  propose  in  the  language  of  his 
childhood  than  in  any  other,"  Later  in  the  same  year,  in 
the  famous  statute  which  forbade  all  sports  except  the 
longbow,  it  was  further  ordained  "  that  all  lords,  barons, 
knights,  and  honourable  men  of  good  towns  should  be 
careful  and  diligent  to  teach  and  instruct  their  children 
in  the  French  tongue,  whereby  they  might  be  the  more 
skilful  and  practised  in  their  wars."*  But  Acts  of 
Parliament  are  not  omnipotent  even  in  the  20th  century ; 
and  in  the  14th  they  often  represented  rather  pious 
aspirations  than  workaday  facts.  It  was  easier  to 
foster  a  healthy  pastime  like  archery  than  to  enforce 
scholastic  regulations  which  parents  and  masters  were 
alike  tempted  to  neglect ;  and  certainly  the  f>ench 
language  lost  ground  very  rapidly  in  the  latter  half 
of  the  century.  In  1362  English  superseded  French  as 
the  spoken  language  of  the  law  courts ;  next  year  the 
Chancellor  opened  Parliament  in  an  English  speech; 
and  in  1385  Trevisa  complained  that  boys  at  grammar- 
schools  "know  no  more  French  than  their  left  heel." 
The  language  lingered,  of  course,  Chaucer's  friend  and 
contemporary,  Cower,  wrote  as  much  in  French  as  in 
English.  P>ench  still  kept  the  upper  hand  in  Parliament 
till  about  fifty  years  after  Chaucer's  death,  nor  did  the 
statutes  cease  altogether  to  be  published  in  that  language 
until  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  But  though  it  was  still 
the  Court  tongue  in  Chaucer's  time,  and  though  we  do 
not  know  that  Edward  III.  was  capable  of  addressing 
his  Commons  in  their  native  tongue,  yet  Henry  IV. 
took  care  to  claim  the  throne  before  Parliament  in  plain 

*  Froissart,  ed.  Luce,  i.,  359,  402.  There  was  in  1444  a  similar 
attempt  to  keep  up  Latin  and  F'>ench  among  the  Benedictine  monks, 
since  from  ignorance  of  one  or  the  other  language  "  they  frequently  fall 
into  shame."     Reynerus,  "  Ue  Antiq.  Benedict,"  p.  129. 


YOUNG  ENGLAND  5 

English  ;*  and  even  before  that  time  French  had  already 
become  an  exotic,  an  artificial  dialect  needing  hothouse 
culture — no  longer  French  of  Paris,  but  that  of  ''Stratford 
atte  Bowe."t  The  tongue  sat  ill  on  a  nation  that  was 
already  proud  of  its  insularity  and  unity.  Even  while 
labouring  to  write  in  French,  Gower  dedicates  his  work 
to  his  country :  "  O  gentile  Engletere,  a  toi  j'escrits." 
it  is  not  the  least  of  Chaucer's  claims  on  our  gratitude 
that,  from  the  very  first,  he  wrote  for  the  English 
people  in  English — that  is,  in  the  mixed  dialect  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  Norman-French  which  was  habitually  spoken 
in  London  by  the  upper  middle  classes  of  a  mingled 
Norman  and  Teutonic  population  J — and  that  in  so  doing 
he  laid  the  foundations  of  a  national  literary  language. 
Much,  of  course,  still  remained  to  be  done.  Caxton,  in 
1490,  shows  us  how  an  Englishman  might  well  be  taken 
for  a  Frenchman  outside  his  own  country,§  as  in  modern 
Germany  a  foreigner  who  speaks  fluently,  however  incor- 
rectly, passes  easily  for  a  German  of  some  remote  and  bar- 
barous province.  Indeed,  English  unity  in  Chaucer's  time 
was  in  some  ways  as  incomplete  as  that  of  the  modern 

*  **  He  chalenged  in  Englyssh  tunge "  ("  Chronicles  of  London," 
ed.  Kingsford,  p.  43,  where  the  exact  form  of  words  used  by  Henry  is 
recorded  ;  cf.  Dymock's  challenge,  ibid.,  p.  49). 

t  It  is  difficult  to  go  altogether  with  Prof.  Skeat  in  his  repudiation 
of  the  sense  commonly  attached  to  this  phrase  (note  on  Prologue,  126). 
Chaucer  seems  to  say  that  the  Prioress  {a)  knew  P'rench,  but  [b]  only 
French  of  Stratford,  just  as  he  explains  that  the  parish  clerk  {a)  could 
dance,  but  {b)  only  after  the  School  of  Oxenford.  Chaucer  could  scarcely 
have  claimed  that  the  Norman-French  of  England  was  as  pure  as  the 
French  of  Paris, 

X  For  the  most  interesting  account  of  this  fusion,  see  Jusserand, 
"  Hist.  Litt.,"  p.  236.     (Bk.  III.,  ch.  i.) 

§  "English  Garner,"  15th  century,  ed.  A.  W.  Pollard,  p.  240;  J.  R. 
Green's  "Short  History,"  p.  291.  "And  one  of  them  named  Sheffield, 
a  mercer,  came  into  a  house  and  asked  for  meat,  and  especially  he  asked 
after  eggs  ;  and  the  goodwife  answered  that  she  could  speak  no  French, 
and  the  merchant  was  angry,  for  he  also  could  speak  no  French,  but 
would  have  had  eggs,  and  she  understood  him  not.  And  then  at  last 
another  said,  that  he  would  have  '  eyren ' ;  then  the  goodwife  said  that 
she  understood  him  well.  Lo,  what  should  a  man  in  these  days  now 
write,  eggs  or  eyren  ? " 


6        CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

German  empire.  Men  would  still  go  before  bishops 
and  magistrates  to  purge  themselves  by  a  solemn  oath 
from  the  injurious  suspicion  of  being  Scots,  and  there- 
fore enemies  to  the  realm  ;  and  a  couple  of  generations 
earlier  the  suspected  Welshman  had  found  himself  under 
the  same  necessity.  The  articles  of  peace  drawn  up  in 
1274  at  Oxford  between  the  northern  and  Irish  scholars 
"read  like  a  treaty  of  peace  between  hostile  nations 
rather  than  an  act  of  University  legislation  " ;  and  even 
at  the  end  of  Chaucer's  life  we  may  find  royal  letters 
"  licensing  John  Russell,  born  in  Ireland,  to  reside  in 
England,  notwithstanding  the  proclamation  that  all 
Irish-born  were  to  go  and  stay  in  their  own  country." 
But  the  Oxford  Concordia  of  1274  was  the  last  which 
recognized  that  division  of  students  into  "nations" 
which  still  remained  so  real  at  Paris  and  other  con- 
tinental universities;  and  though  blood  still  reddened 
Oxford  streets  for  a  century  longer  in  the  ancient 
quarrel  of  north  and  south,  yet  the  "great  slaughter" 
of  1354  was  entirely  a  town  and  gown  affray.* 

The  foundations  of  modern  England  were  laid  by 
Edward  I.,  who  did  more  than  any  other  king  to  create 
a  national  parliament,  a  national  system  of  justice,  and 
a  national  army.f  Edward  III.,  with  far  less  creative 
power,  but  with  equal  energy  and  ambition,  inherited 
the  ripe  fruits  of  his  grandfather's  policy,  and  raised 
England  to  a  place  in  European  politics  which  she  had 
never  reached  before  and  was  seldom  to  reach  again. 
"That  which  touches  all,"  said  Edward  I.,  "should  be 
approved  by  all  " ;  and,  though  continental  sovereigns 
might  use  similar  language  as  a  subtle  cloke  for  their 
arbitrary  encroachments,  in  England  the  maxim  had 
from    the  first   a  real    meaning.      The    great    barons — 

*  .See  the  cases  given  in  full  by  Thorold  Rogers,  "  Oxford  City 
Documents,"  pp.  168,  170,  173,  and  H.  Rashdall's  "Universities  of 
Europe,"  ii.,  3O3,  369,  403. 

t  See  the  articles  by  Prof.  Maitland  and  Mr.  A.  L.  Smith  in  vol.  ii. 
of  '*  Social  England." 


YOUNG  ENGLAND  7 

themselves  steadily  dwindling  in  feudal  power  —  no 
longer  sat  alone  in  the  King's  councils  ;  by  their  side  sat 
country  gentlemen  and  citizens  elected  to  share  in  the 
responsibilities  of  government ;  and  the  clergy,  but  for 
their  own  persistent  separatism,  might  have  sent  their 
chosen  representatives  to  sit  with  the  rest.  More- 
over, already  in  Chaucer's  time  we  find  precedents  for 
the  boldest  demands  of  the  Long  Parliament.  The 
Commons  claimed,  and  for  a  time  obtained,  the  control 
of  taxation;  and  five  of  Richard  II. 's  ministers  were 
condemned  as  traitors  for  counselling  him  to  measures 
which  Parliament  branded  as  unconstitutional.  Pro- 
fessor Maitland  has  well  described  the  "omnicom- 
petence  "  of  Parliament  at  this  time.  Nothing  human 
was  alien  to  its  sphere  of  activity,  from  the  sale  of 
herrings  at  Yarmouth  fair  and  the  fashion  of  citizens' 
girdles  to  those  great  constitutional  questions  which 
remained  in  dispute  for  three  centuries  longer,  and 
were  only  settled  at  last  by  a  civil  war  and  a  revolution. 
Nor  was  the  judicial  system  less  truly  national  than 
the  Parliament.  Maitland  has  pointed  out  that  the 
years  1 272-1 290  were  more  fruitful  in  epoch-making 
legislation  than  any  other  period  of  English  history, 
except  perhaps  that  which  succeeded  the  Reform  Bill  of 
1832.  Chaucer,  like  ourselves,  lived  in  an  age  which 
was  consolidating  the  great  achievements  of  two 
generations  past,  and  looking  forward  to  far-reaching 
social  changes  in  the  future.  Already  in  his  time  the 
Roman  Law  was  outlandish  in  England ;  our  land  laws 
were  fixed  in  many  principles  which  for  centuries 
remained  unquestioned,  and  which  are  often  found  to 
underlie  even  the  present  system.  Already  under 
Edward  III,,  as  for  many  centuries  afterwards,  men 
looked  upon  the  main  principles  of  English  juris- 
prudence as  settled  for  ever,  and  strove  only  by  a  series 
of  ingenious  accommodations  to  fit  them  in  with  the 
requirements  of  a  changing  world.  The  framework  of 
the  law  courts,   again,   was   roughly  that   of    modern 


8  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

England.  The  King's  judges  were  no  longer  clerics, 
but  laymen  chosen  from  among  the  professional 
pleaders  in  the  courts ;  and  here  again  "  one  remarkable 
characteristic  of  our  legal  system  is  fixed." 

In  many  other  wa3's,  too,  the  kingdom  had  outgrown 
its  clerical  tutelage.  Learning  and  art  had  long  since 
ceased  to  be  predominantly  monastic ;  for  at  least  two 
centuries  before  Chaucer's  birth  they  had  left  the  pro- 
tection of  the  cloister,  and  flourished  far  more  luxuriantly 
in  the  great  world  than  they  ever  could  have  done 
under  strictly  monastic  conditions.  True  monasticism 
was  predominantly  puritan,  and  therefore  unfavourable 
to  free  development  in  any  direction  but  that  of  mystic 
contemplation ;  if  the  spirit  of  St.  Bernard  had  lived 
among  the  Cistercians,  the  glories  of  Tintern  and 
Rievaulx  would  have  been  impossible;  and  even  our 
cathedrals  and  parish  churches  owed  more  of  their 
beauties  to  laymen  than  to  clerics.  So  also  with  our 
universities,  which  rose  on  the  ruins  of  monastic 
learning ;  and  in  which,  despite  the  fresh  impetus 
received  from  the  Friars,  the  lay  spirit  still  grew  rapidly 
under  the  shelter  of  the  Church.  In  the  14th  century, 
when  Oxford  could  show  such  a  roll  of  philosophers 
that  "  not  all  the  other  Nations  and  Universities  of 
Europe  between  them  could  muster  such  a  list,"  a 
growing  proportion  of  these  were  not  cloistered,  but 
secular  clergy.  At  no  earlier  time  could  these  latter 
have  shown  three  such  Oxford  doctors  as  Bradwardine, 
Richard  of  Armagh,  and  Wycliffe.  The  General  Chapter 
of  the  Benedictines  strove  repeatedly,  but  in  vain,  to 
compel  a  reasonable  proportion  of  monks  to  study  at 
Oxford  or  Cambridge.*  Before  the  end  of  Edward  III.'s 
reign,  the  English  Universities  had  become  far  more 
truly  national  than  at  any  previous  time  ;  their  training 
and  aims  were  less  definitely  ecclesiastical,  and   their 

*  Cf.  Reyncrus,  "  De  Antiq.  Benedict,"  pp.  107,  136,  -f?.7,  yiS,  595. 
The  pages  in  italics  contain  startling  lists  of  defaulting  abbeys  and 
priories. 


YOUNG   ENGLAND  9 

culture  overflowed  to  laymen  like  Chaucer  and  Gower.* 
Moreover,  the  Inns  of  Court  had  become  practically  lay 
universities  of  law  :  and,  quite  apart  from  Wycliffism, 
there  was  a  rapid  growth  not  only  of  the  non-clerical 
but  even  of  anti-clerical  spirit.  Blow  after  blow  was 
struck  at  Papal  privileges  by  successive  Parliaments  in 
which  the  representatives  of  the  lower  clergy  no  longer 
sat.  The  Pope's  demand  for  arrears  of  John's  tribute 
from  England  was  rejected  so  emphatically  that  it  was 
never  pressed  again  ;  Parliament  repudiated  Papal 
claims  of  presentation  to  vacant  benefices,  and  forbade, 
under  the  severest  penalties,  all  unlicensed  appeals  to 
Rome  from  English  courts.  It  is  true  that  our  kings 
constantly  gave  way  on  these  two  last  points,  but  only 
because  it  was  easier  to  share  the  spoils  by  connivance 
with  the  Popes;  and  these  statutes  mark  none  the  less 
an  epoch  in  English  history.  In  1371,  again,  Edward  III. 
assented  to  a  petition  from  Parliament  which  pleaded 
"inasmuch  as  the  government  of  the  realm  has  long 
been  in  the  hands  of  the  men  of  Holy  Church,  who  in 
no  case  can  be  brought  to  account  for  their  acts, 
whereby  great  mischief  has  happened  in  times  past  and 
may  happen  in  times  to  come,  may  it  therefore  please 
the  king  that  laymen  of  his  own  realm  be  elected  to 
replace  them,  and  that  none  but  laymen  henceforth  be 
chancellor,  treasurer,  barons  of  the  exchequer,  clerk  of 
privy  seal,  or  other  great  officers  of  the  realm."  Already 
the  partial  sequestration  of  the  Alien  Priories  by  the 
three  Edwards,  and  the  total  suppression  and  spoliation 
of  the  Templars  in  1312,  had  accustomed  men's  minds 
to  schemes  of  wholesale  disendowment  which  were 
advocated  as  earnestly  by  an  anti-Lollard  like  Langlandf 

*  See  Gower's  "Vox  Clamantis,"  Bk.  III.,  c.  28,  for  a  description  of 
the  worldly  aims  of  the  14th-century  universities. 

t  It  seems  extremely  probable,  to  say  the  least,  that  the  poem  of 
Piers  Plowman  was  by  more  than  one  hand  ;  but,  in  any  case,  the 
authors  were  contemporaries,  and  seem  to  have  held  very  much  the  same 
views  ;  so  that  it  is  still  possible  for  most  purposes  of  historical  argument 
to  quote  the  poem  under  the  traditional  name  of  Langland. 


10  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

as  by  Wycliffe  himself;  and  indeed  this  writer,  the 
most  religious  among  the  three  principal  poets  of  that 
age,  was  also  the  most  anticlerical.  In  Edward  III.'s 
reign  the  Reformation  was  already  definitely  in  sight. 

In  short,  Chaucer's  lot  was  cast  in  an  epoch-making 
age.  England's  claim  to  the  lordship  of  the  seas  was 
at  least  a  century  old ;  but  Sluys,  our  first  decisive 
maritime  victory,  "the  Trafalgar  of  the  Middle  Ages," 
was  won  in  the  same  year  in  which  the  poet  was 
probably  born  ;  six  years  later,  Calais  became  in  a 
sense  our  first  colony;  and  it  was  noted  even  in 
those  days  that  the  Englishman  prospered  still  more 
abroad  than  at  home.  Never  before  or  since  have 
English  armies  been  so  frequently  and  so  uniformly 
victorious  as  during  the  first  thirty  years  of  Chaucer's 
life ;  seldom  have  our  commerce  and  our  liberties 
developed  more  rapidly;  and  if  the  disasters  which  he 
saw  were  no  less  strange,  these  also  helped  to  ripen  his 
many-sided  genius.  The  Great  Pestilence  of  1349,  more 
terrible  than  any  other  recorded  in  history ;  the  first 
pitched  battle  between  Labour  and  Capital  in  1381  ;  the 
first  formal  deposition  of  an  English  King  in  1327,  to  be 
repeated  still  more  solemnly  in  1399;  all  these  must 
have  aff'ected  the  poet  almost  as  deeply  as  they  affected 
the  State,  notwithstanding  the  persistency  with  which 
he  generally  looks  upon  the  brighter  side.  Professor 
Raleigh  has  wittily  applied  to  him  the  confession  of 
Dr.  Johnson's  friend,  "  I  have  tried  in  my  time  to  be  a 
philosopher ;  but,  I  don't  know  how,  cheerfulness  was 
always  breaking  in."  It  is  difficult,  however,  not  to 
surmise  a  great  deal  of  more  or  less  unwilling  philo- 
sophy beneath  Chaucer's  delightful  flow  of  good-humour. 
His  subtle  ironies  may  tell  as  plain  a  tale  as  other  men's 
open  complaints ;  and  sometimes  he  hastens  to  laugh 
where  we  might  suspect  a  rising  lump  in  his  throat. 
But  the  laugh  is  there,  or  at  least  the  easy,  good-natured 
smile.  Where  Gower  sees  an  England  more  hopelessly 
given  over  to  the  Devil   than  even   in   Carlyle's   most 


YOUNG  ENGLAND  11 

dyspeptic  nightmares — where  the  robuster  Langland 
sees  an  impending  religious  Armageddon,  and  the 
honest  soul's  pilgrimage  from  the  City  of  Destruction 
towards  a  New  Jerusalem  rather  hoped  for  than  seen 
even  by  the  eye  of  faith — there  Chaucer,  with  incurable 
optimism,  sees  chiefly  a  Merry  England  to  which  the 
horrors  of  the  Hundred  Years'  War  and  the  Black 
Death  and  Tyler's  revolt  are  but  a  foil.  Like  many 
others  in  the  Middle  Ages,  he  seems  convinced  of  the 
peculiar  instability  of  the  English  character.  He  knew 
that  he  was  living — as  all  generations  are  more  or  less 
conscious  of  living — in  an  uncomfortable  borderland 
between  that  which  once  was,  but  can  be  no  longer, 
and  that  which  shall  be,  but  cannot  yet  come  to  pass; 
yet  all  these  changes  supplied  the  artist  with  that 
variety  of  colour  and  form  which  he  needed ;  and  the 
man  seems  to  have  gone  through  life  in  the  tranquil 
conviction  that  this  was  a  pleasant  world,  arid  his  own 
land  a  particularly  privileged  spot.  The  England  of 
Chaucer  is  that  of  which  one  of  his  most  noted  pre- 
decessors wrote,  "  England  is  a  strong  land  and  a 
sturdy,  and  the  plenteousest  corner  of  the  world,  so 
rich  a  land  that  unneth  it  needeth  help  of  any  land,  and 
every  other  land  needeth  help  of  England.  England  is 
full  of  mirth  and  of  game,  and  men  oft  times  able  to 
mirth  and  game,  free  men  of  heart  and  with  tongue, 
but  the  hand  is  more  better  and  more  free  than  the 
tongue."  * 

*  Bartholomaeus  Anglicus  (Steele,  "Mediaeval  Lore,"  1905),  p.  86. 


CHAPTER   II 
.  BOYHOOD  AND   YOUTH 

"  Jeunes  amours,  si  vite  epanouies, 
Vous  etes  I'aube  et  le  matin  du  coeur. 
Charmez  I'enfant,  extases  inouies 
Et,  quand  le  soir  vient  avec  la  douleur, 
Charmez  encor  nos  ames  eblouies, 
Jeunes  amours,  si  vite  dvanouies  !  " 

Victor  Hugo 

THE  name  Chaucer  was  in  some  cases  a  corruption 
of  chauffecire,  i.e.  "chafewax,"  or  clerk  in  the 
Chancery,  whose  duty  it  was  to  help  in  the  elaborate 
•operation  of  sealing  royal  documents.*  But  Mr.  V.  B. 
Redstone  seems  to  have  shown  conclusively  that  the 
poet's  ancestors  were  c/iausstcrs,  or  makers  of  long  hose, 
and  that  they  combined  this  business  with  other  more 
or  less  extensive  mercantile  operations,  especially  as 
vintners.  The  family,  like  others  in  the  wine  trade, 
may  well  have  come  originally  from  Gascony  ;  but  in 
the  13th  and  14th  centuries  it  seems  to  have  thriven 
mainly  in  London  and  East  Anglia,  and  recent  re- 
search has  definitely  traced  the  poet's  immediate 
ancestry  to  Ipswich.f  His  grandfather,  Robert  Malyn, 
surnamed    le   Chaucer,  came   from   the   Suffolk  village 

*  Bcsant  quotes  accounts  recording  {inter  alia)  a  gift  of  wine  to  the 
"Chaucer"  on  the  occasion  of  a  mayoral  procession,  but  apparently 
without  realizing  its  significance.     ("  Mediaeval  London,"  i.,  303.) 

t  Mr.  V.  V).  Redstone,  in  Aihcnauvi,  No.  4087,  p.  233,  and  East 
Anglian  Daily  Titnes,  April  8,  1908,  p.  5,  col.  7.  It  is  not  my  aim,  in  this 
chapter,  to  trouble  the  reader  with  discussions  of  doubtful  points,  but 
rather  to  present  what  is  certainly  known,  or  may  safely  be  inferred 
about  Chaucer's  life. 


BOYHOOD   AND    YOUTH  13 

of  Dennington,  and  set  up  a  tavern  in  Ipswich.  Robert 
left  a  child  named  John,  who  was  forcibly  abducted 
one  night  in  1324  by  Geoffrey  Stace,  apparently  his 
uncle.  When  Stace  "  stole  and  took  away  by  force 
and  arms — viz.  swords,  bows,  and  arrows — the  said 
John,"  his  object  was  to  settle  possible  difficulties  of 
succession  to  a  certain  estate  by  forcing  the  boy  to 
marry  Joan  de  Westhale ;  and  he  pleaded  in  his  justifi- 
cation the  custom  of  Ipswich,  by  which  *'an  heir  became 
of  full  age  at  the  end  of  his  twelfth  year,  if  he  knew  how 
to  reckon  and  measure  "  ;  *  but  he  was  very  heavily  fined 
for  his  breach  of  the  peace.  We  learn  from  the  plead- 
ings in  this  case  that  John  Chaucer  was  still  unmarried 
in  1328;  that  he  lived  in  London  with  his  stepfather, 
namesake,  and  fellow-vintner,  Richard  Chaucer,  and  that 
his  patrimony  was  very  small.  Richard,  dying  twenty- 
one  years  later,  left  his  house  and  his  tavern  to  the 
Church;  but  he  had  very  likely  given  his  stepson  sub- 
stantial help  during  his  lifetime.  In  any  case,  John 
must  have  thriven  rapidly,  for  we  find  him,  in  1338,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-six  or  thereabouts,  among  the  distin- 
guished company  which  followed  Edward  III.  on  his 
journey  up  the  Rhine  to  negociate  an  alliance  with  the 
Emperor  Louis  IV.  The  Royal  Wardrobe  Books  give 
many  interesting  detail  of  this  journey.f  Queen  Philippa 
accompanied  the  King  half-way  across  Brabant,  and  then 
returned  to  Antwerp,  where  she  gave  birth  to  Lionel  of 
Clarence,  the  poet's  first  master.  Among  the  party 
were  also  several  of  the  household  of  the  Earl  of  Derby, 
father-in-law  to  that  John  of  Gaunt  with  whom  Geoffrey 
Chaucer's  fortunes  were  to  be  closely  bound.  The 
travellers  had  started  from  Antwerp  on  Sunday,  August 
16;  and  on  the  following  Sunday  a  long  day's  journey 

*  At  Wycombe,  too,  "every  citizen  from  twelve  years  old  could  serve 
on  juries  for  the  town  business."  Mrs.  Green,  "Town  Life,"  i.,  184.  I 
shall  have  occasion  in  the  next  chapter  to  note  how  early  men  began 
life  in  those  days. 

t  Pauli,  "  Pictures  of  Old  England,"  chap,  v 


14       CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

brought  them  within  sight  of  the  colossal  choir  which, 
until  sixty  years  ago,  was  almost  all  that  existed  of 
Cologne  Cathedral.  Here  the  King  gave  liberally  to 
the  building  fund;  and  here  John  Chaucer  probably 
stayed  behind,  since  he  and  his  fellow-citizens  had  come 
to  promote  closer  commercial  relations  between  the 
Rhine  cities  and  London.  The  King  was  towed  up  the 
Rhine  by  sixty-two  boatmen,  sat  in  the  Diet  at  Coblenz 
as  Vicar  Imperial,  formed  a  seven  years'  alliance  with 
the  Emperor,  and  sent  on  his  five-year-old  daughter 
Joan  to  Munich,  where  she  waited  many  months  vainly, 
but  probably  without  impatience,  for  the  young  Duke 
of  Austria,  who  was  at  present  bespoken  for  her,  but 
who  finally  turned  elsewhere.  Meanwhile  Edward  came 
back  to  Bonn,  where  he  had  to  pay  the  equivalent  of 
about  iJ"330  modern  money  for  damage  done  in  a 
quarrel  between  the  citizens  and  those  of  his  suite 
whom  he  had  left  behind — John  Chaucer  probably 
included.  The  Queen  met  the  party  again  in  Brabant, 
and  they  returned  to  Antwerp  after  a  journey  of  exactly 
four  weeks.  We  meet  with  several  further  allusions  to 
John  Chaucer  among  the  London  city  records.  It  was 
very  likely  he  who,  in  July,  1349,  brought  a  valuable 
present  from  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury  to  Queen  Philippa 
at  Devizes,  at  the  time  when  the  ravages  of  the  Black 
Death  in  London  supply  a  very  probable  reason  for  his 
absence  from  town,  so  that  he  might  well  have  had  his 
wife  and  son  with  him  on  this  occasion.  Certainly  it 
was  he  who,  with  fourteen  other  principal  vintners  of 
the  city,  assented  in  1342  to  an  ordinance  providing  that 
"no  taverner  should  mix  putrid  and  corrupt  wine  with 
wine  that  is  good  and  pure,  or  should  forbid  that,  when 
any  company  is  drinking  wine  in  his  tavern,  one  of 
them,  for  himself  and  the  rest  of  the  company,  shall  enter 
the  cellar  where  the  tuns  or  pipes  are  then  lying,  and 
see  that  the  measures  or  vessels  into  which  the  wine  is 
poured  are  quite  empty  and  clean  within;  and  in  like 
manner,  from  what  tun   or  what   pipe  the  wine  is  so 


BOYHOOD   AND   YOUTH  15 

drawn."  This  salutary  ordinance  was  set  at  nouglit 
afterwards,  as  it  had  been  before ;  but  this  and  other 
records  bear  witness  to  John  Chaucer's  standing  in  his 
profession. 

Geoffrey  Chaucer  was  probably  born  about  the  year 
1340,  in  his  father's  London  dwelling,  which  is  described 
in  a  legal  document  of  the  time  as  "  a  certain  tenement 
situate  in  the  parish  of  St.  Martin  at  Vintry,  between  the 
tenement  of  William  le  Gauger  on  the  east  and  that 
which  once  belonged  to  John  le  Mazelyner  on  the  west : 
and  it  extendeth  in  length  from  the  King's  highway  of 
Thames  Street  southwards,  unto  the  water  of  Walbrook 
northwards."*  The  Water  of  Walbrook  rose  in  the 
northern  heights  of  Hampstead  and  Highbury,  spread 
with  others  into  the  swamp  of  Moorfields,  divided  the 
city  roughly  into  two  halves,  and  discharged  its  sluggish 
waters  into  the  Thames  about  where  Cannon  Street 
station  now  stands.  Similar  streams,  or  "fleets,"  creep- 
ing between  overhanging  houses,  are  still  frequent 
enough  in  little  continental  towns,  and  survive  here 
and  there  even  in  England.*  Stow,  writing  in  Queen 
Elizabeth's  reign,  describes  how  the  lower  part  of  Wal- 
brook was  bricked  over  in  1462,  leaving  it  still  "  a  fair 
brook  of  sweet  water"  in  its  upper  course  ;  and  he  takes 
pains  to  assure  us  that  it  was  not  really  called  after  Galus, 
"a  Roman  captain  slain  by  Asclepiodatus,  and  thrown 
therein,  as  some  have  fabled."  In  Chaucer's  time  it  ran 
openly  through  the  wall  between  Moorgate  and  Bishops- 
gate,  washed  St.  Margaret's,  Lothbury,  and  ran  under 

*  "  Life  Records,"  iv.,  232.  The  industry  of  Mr.  Walter  Rye  has 
collected  a  large  number  of  documentary  notices  which  establish  a 
probable  connection  of  some  kind  between  Chaucer  and  Norfolk ;  but 
the  evidence  seems  insufficient  as  yet  to  prove  Mr.  Rye's  thesis  that,  the 
poet  was  born  at  Lynn ;  and  in  default  of  such  definite  evidence,  it  is 
safer  to  presume  that  he  was  born  in  the  Thames  .Street  house. 
{Aihenceti7n,  March  7,  1908  ;  of.  "Life  Records,"  iii.,  131.) 

t  At  Rouen,  Caudebec,  and  Gisors,  for  instance,  are  very  exact 
counterparts  of  the  Walbrook,  except  that  the  overhanging  houses  are 
a  century  or  two  later,  and  proportionately  larger. 


16  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

the  kitchen  of  Grocer's  Hall,  and  again  under  St.  Mil- 
dred's church  ;  "  from  thence  through  Bucklersbury,  by 
one  great  house  built  of  stone  and  timber  called  the  Old 
Barge,  because  barges  out  of  the  river  of  Thames  were 
rowed  so  far  into  this  brook,  on  the  back  side  of  the 
houses  in  Walbrook  Street."  In  this  last  statement,  how- 
ever. Stow  himself  had  probably  built  too  rashly  upon 
a  mere  name  ;  for  no  barges  can  have  come  any  distance 
up  the  stream  for  centuries  before  its  final  bricking  up. 
The  mass  of  miscellaneous  documents  preserved  at  the 
Guildhall,  from  which  so  much  can  be  done  to  recon- 
stitute medieval  London,  give  us  a  most  unflattering 
picture  of  the  Walbrook,  From  1278  to  141 5  we  find  it 
periodically  "  stopped  up  by  divers  filth  and  dung  thrown 
therein  by  persons  who  have  houses  along  the  said  course, 
to  the  great  nuisance  and  damage  of  all  the  city."  The 
"King's  highway  of  Thames  Street,"  though  one  of  the 
chief  arteries  of  the  city,  cannot  have  been  very  spacious 
in  these  days,  when  even  Cheapside  was  only  just  wide 
enough  to  allow  two  chariots  to  pass  each  other;  and 
when  Chaucer  became  his  own  master  he  doubtless  did 
well  to  live  in  hired  houses  over  the  gate  of  Aldgate 
or  in  the  Abbey  garden  of  Westminster,  and  sell  the 
paternal  dwelling  to  a  fellow-citizen  who  was  presumably 
of  tougher  fibre  than  himself  Yet,  in  spite  of  Walbrook 
and  those  riverside  lanes  which  Dr.  Creighton  surmises 
to  have  been  the  least  sanitary  spots  of  medieval  London, 
the  Vintry  was  far  from  being  one  of  the  worst  quarters 
of  the  town.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  rather  select,  as 
befitted  the  "  Merchant  Vintners  of  Gascoyne,"  many  of 
whom  were  mayors  of  the  city;  and  Stow's  survey  records 
many  conspicuous  buildings  in  this  ward.  First,  the 
headquarters  of  the  wine  trade,  "  a  large  house  built  of 
stone  and  timber,  with  vaults  for  the  storage  of  wines, 
and  is  called  the  Vintry.  There  dwelt  John  Gisers, 
vintner,  mayor  of  London  and  constable  of  the  town." 
Here  also  "Henry  Picard,  vintner  (mayor,  1357),  in  the 
year  1363,  did  in  one  day  sumptuously  feast  Edward  III., 


BOYHOOD   AND   YOUTH  17 

King  of  England,  John,  King  of  France,  David,  King  of 
Scots,  the  King  of  Cyprus  (then  all  in  England),  Edward, 
Prince  of  Wales,  with  many  other  noblemen,  and  after 
kept  his  hall  for  all  comers  that  were  willing  to  play  at 
dice  and  hazard.  The  Lady  Margaret,  his  wife,  kept 
her  chamber  to  the  same  effect."  Picard,  as  Mr.  Rye 
points  out,  was  one  of  John  Chaucer's  fellow-vintners  on 
Edward  III.'s  Rhine  journey  in  1338.*  Then  there  were 
the  Vintner's  Hall  and  almshouses,  which  were  built  in 
Chaucer's  lifetime  ;  the  three  Guild  Halls  of  the  Cutlers, 
Plumbers,  and  Glaziers;  the  town  mansions  of  the  Earls 
of  Worcester  and  Ormond,  and  the  great  house  of  the 
Ypres  family,  at  which  John  of  Gaunt  was  dining  in 
1377  when  a  knight  burst  in  with  news  that  London  was 
up  in  arms  against  him,  "  and  unless  he  took  great 
heed,  that  day  would  be  his  last.  With  which  words 
the  duke  leapt  so  hastily  from  his  oysters  that  he  hurt 
both  his  legs  against  the  form.  Wine  was  offered,  but 
he  could  not  drink  for  haste,  and  so  fled  with  his  fellow 
Henry  Percy  out  at  a  back  gate,  and  entering  the  Thames, 
never  stayed  rowing  until  they  came  to  a  house  near 
the  manor  of  Kennington,  where  at  that  time  the  princess 
[of  Wales]  lay  with  Richard  the  young  prince,  before 
whom  he  made  his  complaint." 

Of  Chaucer's  childhood  we  have  no  direct  record. 
No  doubt  he  played  with  other  boys  at  forbidden 
games  of  ball  in  the  narrow  streets,  to  the  serious  risk 
of  other  people's  windows  or  limbs  ;t  no  doubt  he 
brought  his  cock  to  fight  in  school,  under  magisterial 
supervision,  on  Shrove  Tuesday,  and  played  in  the 
fields  outside  the  walls  at  the  still  rougher  game  of 
football,  or  at  "  leaping,  dancing,  shooting,  wrestling, 
and   casting   the   stone."      In   winter,   when   the    great 

*  The  illustration  on  page  177  represents  a  similar  royal  banquet — the 
celebrated  Peacock  f'east  of  Lynn.  Robert  Braunche,  mayor,  entertained 
Edward  there  chra  1350,  and  caused  the  event  to  be  immortalized  on  his 
funeral  monument.  Henry  Picard  himself  was  King's  Butler  at  Lynn 
in  1350  (Rye,  /.  c). 

t  Cooper,  Atifials  0/  Caiiibn'di^e,  an.  i  |io  ;  Rashdall,  /.  c.  11.  670. 
c 


18 


CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 


swamp  of  Moorfields  was  frozen,  he  would  be  sure  to 
flock  out  with  the  rest  to  "play  upon  the  ice;  some, 
striding  as  wide  as  they  may,  do  slide  swiftly;  others 
make  themselves  seats  of  ice,  as  great  as  millstones ; 
one  sits  down,  many  hand  in  hand  to  draw  him,  and 
one  slipping  on  a  sudden,  all  fall  together;   some  tie 


i^--:-^sSS;5^ 


MEDIEVAL   COCK-FIGHTING,    ACTUAL   AM)   METArUuRlCAI. 
(From  Strutt's  "Sports  and  Pastimes'') 


bones  to  their  feet  and  under  their  heels,  and  shoving 
themselves  by  a  Httle  piked  staff,  do  slide  as  swiftly 
as  a  bird  flieth  in  the  air,  or  an  arrow  out  of  a  cross- 
bow. Sometime  two  run  together  with  poles,  and 
hitting  one  the  other,  either  one  or  both  do  fall,  not 
without  hurt ;  some  break  their  arms,  some  their  legs, 
but   youth    desirous   of   glory    in    this   sort    exerciseth 


BOYHOOD   AND    YOUTH  19 

itself  against  the  time  of  war."  *  In  spring  he  would 
watch  the  orchards  of  Southwark  put  on  their  fresh 
leaves  and  blossoms,  and  walk  abroad  with  his  father 
in  the  evening  to  the  pleasant  little  village  of  Holborn; 
but  he  had  a  perennial  source  of  amusement  nearer 
home  than  this.  Nearly  all  the  old  wall  along  the 
Thames  had  already  been  broken  down,  as  the  city 
had  grown  in  population  and  security,  while  more 
ships  came  daily  to  unload  their  cargoes  at  the  wharves. 
Here  and  there  stood  mighty  survivals  of  the  old  river- 
side fortifications :  Montfitchet's  Tower  flanking  the 
walls  up-stream  and  the  Tower  of  London  down- 
stream ;  and  between  them,  close  by  Chaucer's  own 
home,  the  "Tower  Royal,"  in  which  the  Queen  Dowager 
found  safety  during  Wat  Tyler's  revolt.  But  the 
Thames  itself  was  now  bordered  by  an  almost  con- 
tinuous line  of  open  quays,  among  the  busiest  of  which 
were  those  of  Vintry  ward,  "where  the  merchants  of 
Bordeaux  craned  their  wines  out  of  lighters  and  other 
vessels,"  and  finally  built  their  vaulted  warehouses  so 
thickly  as  to  crowd  out  the  cooks'  shops;  "for  Fitz- 
stephen,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  11. ,  writeth,  that  upon 
the  river's  side,  between  the  wine  in  ships  and  the 
wine  to  be  sold  in  Taverns,  was  a  common  cookery 
or  cooks'  row."  Here,  then,  Chaucer  would  loiter  to 
study  the  natural  history  of  the  English  shipman,  full 
of  strange  oaths  and  bearded  like  the  pard.  Here  he 
would  see  not  only  native  craft  from  "far  by  west," 
but  broad-sailed  vessels  from  every  country  of  Europe, 
with  cargoes  as  various  as  their  nationalities.  Not  a 
stone's  throw  from  his  father's  house  stood  the  great 
fortified  hall  and  wharf  of  the  Hanse  merchants,  the 
Easterlings  who  gave  their  name  to  our  standard 
coinage,  and  whose  London  premises  remained  the 
property  of  Liibeck,  Hamburg,  and  Bremen  until  1853.! 
Chief  among   the   Easterlings   at   this    time   were    the 

*  Fitzstephen,  in  Stow,  p.  119. 

t  See  "The  Hanseatic  Steelyard,"  in  Pauli's  '*  Pictures,"  chap.  vi. 


20  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

Cologne    merchants,   with   whom    John    Chaucer    had 

specially  close   relations  ;    so    that   the   little   Geoffrey 

must  often  have  trotted  in  with  his  father  to  see  the 

vines  and  fruit-trees  with  which  these  thrifty  Germans 

had  laid  out  a  plot  of  make-believe  Rhineland  beside 

far-off  Thames   shore.     Often  must  he  have  wondered 

at  the  half-monastic,  half-military  discipline  which  these 

knights  of  commerce  kept  inside  their  high  stone  walls, 

and  sat  down  to  nibble  at  his  share  of  "a  Dutch  bun 

and  a  keg  of  sturgeon,"  or  dipped  his  childish  lips  in 

the  paternal  flagon  of  Rhenish.     Meanwhile  he  went  to 

school,  since   his   writings   show   a   very   considerable 

amount  of  learning  for  a  layman  of  his  time.     French 

he  would  pick  up  easily  enough  among  this  colony  of 

"  Merchant  Vintners  of  Gascoyne  "  ;  and  for  Latin  there 

were  at  least  three  grammar  schools  attached  to  different 

churches  in  London,  of  which  St.  Paul's  lay  nearest  to 

Chaucer's  home.     But  he  probably  began  first  with  one 

of  the  many  clerks  in  lower  orders,  who,  all  through 

the   Middle   Ages,    eked   out   their    scanty   income    by 

teaching   boys   and   girls   to   read ;    and   here  we   may 

remember  what  a  contemporary  man  of  letters  tells  us 

of  his  own  childhood  in  a  great  merchant  city.     "When 

they  put  me  to  school,"  writes  Froissart,  "  there  were 

little  girls  who  were  young  in  my  days,   and   I,   who 

was  a  little  bo}^,  would  serve  them  with  pins,  or  with 

an  apple  or  a  pear,  or  a  plain  glass  ring;  and  in  truth 

methought  it  great  prowess  to  win  their  grace  .  .  .  and 

then  would  I  say  to  myself,  'When  will  the  hour  strike 

for  me,  that  I  shall  be  able  to   love  in  earnest?'  .  .  . 

When  I  was  grown  a  little  wiser,  it  behoved  me  to  be 

more  obedient ;   for  they  made  me  learn   Latin,  and  if 

I   varied  in    repeating   my  lessons,    they  gave   mc   the 

rod.  ...   I  could   not  be  at    rest ;  I  was  beaten,  and   I 

beat  in  turn  ;  then  was  I  in  such  disarray  that  ofttimes 

I  came  home  with  torn  clothes,  when  I  was  chidden  and 

beaten  again  ;  but  all  their  pains  were  utterly  lost,  for 

I  took  no  heed  thereof.     When  I  saw  my  comrades  pass 


BOYHOOD   AND   YOUTH  21 

down  the  street  in  front,  I  soon  found  an  excuse  to 
go  and  tumble  with  them  again."*  Is  not  childhood 
essentially  the  same  in  all  countries  and  in  all  ages  ? 

The  first  certain  glimpse  we  get  of  the  future  poet 
is  at  the  age  of  seventeen  or  eighteen.  A  manuscript  of 
the  British  Museum  containing  poems  by  Chaucer's  con- 
temporaries, Lydgate  and  Hoccleve,  needed  rebinding ; 
and  the  old  binding  was  found,  as  often,  to  have  been 
strengthened  with  two  sheets  of  parchment  pasted  inside 
the  covers.  These  sheets,  religiously  preserved,  in 
accordance  with  the  traditions  of  the  Museum,  were 
found  to  contain  household  accounts  of  the  Countess  of 
Ulster,  wife  to  that  Prince  Lionel  who  had  been  born 
so  near  to  the  time  of  John  Chaucer's  continental 
journey,  and  who  was  therefore  two  or  three  years 
older  than  the  poet.  Among  the  items  were  found 
records  of  clothes  given  to  different  members  of  the 
household  for  Easter,  1357;  and  low  down  on  the  list 
comes  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  who  received  a  short  cloak, 
a  pair  of  tight  breeches  in  red  and  black,  and  shoes. 
In  these  red-and-black  hosen  the  poet  comes  for  the 
first  time  into  full  light  on  the  stage  of  history.  Two 
other  trifling  payments  to  him  are  recorded  later  on ; 
but  the  chief  interest  of  the  remaining  accounts  lies  in 
the  light  they  throw  on  the  Countess's  movements. 
We  see  that  she  travelled  much  and  was  present  at 
several  great  Court  festivities  ;  and  we  have  every  right 
to  assume  that  Chaucer  in  her  train  had  an  equally 
varied  experience.  "  We  may  catch  glimpses  of  Chaucer 
in  London,  at  Windsor,  at  the  feast  of  St.  George,  held 
there  with  great  pomp  in  connection  with  the  newly 
founded  Order  of  the  Garter,  again  in  London,  then  at 
Woodstock,  at  the  celebration  of  the  feast  at  Pentecost, 
at  Doncaster,  at  Hatfield  in  Yorkshire,  where  he  spends 
Christmas,  again  at  Windsor,  in  Anglesey  (August, 
1358),  at   Liverpool,  at  the  funeral   of  Queen   Isabella 

*  "  CEuvres,"  ed.  Buchon,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  479  fif. ;  cf.  Lydgate's  account 
of  his  own  schooldays,  in  "Babees  Book,"  E.E.T.S.,  p.  xliii. 


22  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

at  the  Grey  Friars  Church,  London  (November  27th, 
1358),  at  Reading,  again  in  London,  visiting  the  lions 
in  the  Tower."  * 

Lionel  himself,  the  romance  of  whose  too  brief  life 
was  said  to  have  begun  even  before  his  birth, f  was  the 
tallest  and  handsomest  of  all  the  King's  sons.  As  the 
chronicler  Hard3mg  says — 

"In  all  the  world  was  then  no  prince  hym  like, 
Of  his  stature  and  of  all  semelynesse 
Above  all  men  within  his  hole  kyngrike 
By  the  shulders  he  might  be  seen  doutlesse, 
[And]  as  a  mayde  in  halle  of  gentilnesse." 

His  second  marriage  and  tragic  death,  not  without 
suspicion  of  poison,  may  be  found  written  in  Froissart 
under  the  year  1368;  but  as  yet  there  was  no  shadow 
over  his  life,  and  in  1357  there  can  have  been  few  gayer 
Courts  for  a  young  poet  than  this,  to  which  there  came, 
at  the  end  of  the  year,  among  other  great  folk,  the  great 
prince  John  of  Gaunt,  who  was  afterwards  to  be  Chau- 
cer's and  Wycliffe's  best  patron.  P^or  all  John  Chaucer's 
favour  with  the  King,  the  vintner's  son  could  never  have 
found  a  place  in  this  great  society  without  brilliant 
qualities  of  his  own.  We  must  think  of  him  like  his 
own  squire— singing,  fluting,  and  dancing,  fresh  as  the 
month  of  May;  already  a  poet,  and  warbling  his  love- 
songs  like  the  nightingale  v/hile  staider  folk  snored  in 
their  beds.  His  earliest  poems  refer  to  an  unrequited 
passion,  not  so  much  natural  as  positively  inevitable 
under  those  conditions.     Within  the  narrow  compass  of 

*  Prof.  Hales,  in  "Diet.  Nat.  Biog." 

t  Sec  the  Queen's  vow  before  the  outbreak  of  the  Hundred  Years' 
War,  in  Wright's  "  Political  Poems,"  R.S.,  p.  23. 

"  Alors  dit  la  reinc  :  '  Je  sais  bien  que  piecha      [il  y  a  longtenips 
()ue  suis  grosse  d'enfant,  que  mon  corps  sentit  la, 
Encore  n'a  t-il  gu^rc  qu'en  mon  corps  se  tourna  ; 
Et  je  voue  et  promets  a  Dieu  qui  me  crca.  .  .  . 
Que  jamais  fruit  dc  moi  de  mon  corps  n'istcra,  [sortira 

iii  m'cn  aurcz  mencc  au  pays  par  del;\.' " 


BOYHOOD   AND   YOUTH  25 

a  medieval  castle,  daily  intercourse  was  proportionately 
closer,  as  differences  of  rank  were  more  indelible  than 
they  are  nowadays ;  and  in  a  society  where  neither 
could  seriously  dream  of  marriage,  Kate  the  Queen 
might  listen  all  the  more  complacently  to  the  page's 
love-carol  as  he  crumbled  the  hounds  their  messes. 
The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star  may  be  sad  enough, 
but  it  is  far  worse  when  the  star  is  a  close  and  tangible 
flame.  The  tale  of  Petit  Jean  de  Saintre  and  the  Book 
of  the  Knight  of  La  Tour-Landry  afford  the  best 
possible  commentary  on  Chaucer's  Court  life. 

Heavily  as  we  may  discount  the  autobiographical 
touches  in  his  early  poems,  there  is  still  quite  enough 
to  show  that,  from  his  twenty-first  year  at  least,  he 
spent  many  years  of  love-longing  and  unrest,  and  that 
(as  in  Shakespeare's  case)  differences  of  rank  added  to 
his  despair.  It  may  well  be  that  the  references  are  to 
more  than  one  lady ;  for  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  Chaucer's  affections  were  less  mercurial  than  those 
of  Burns  or  Heine,  whose  hearts  were  often  enough  in 
two  or  three  places  at  once.  But  we  have  no  reason  to 
doubt  him  when  he  assures  us,  in  1369,  that  he  has  lost 
his  sleep  and  his  cheerfulness — 

I  hold  it  to  be  a  sickness 
That  I  have  suffered  this  eight  year, 
And  yet  my  boote  is  never  the  nere  ; 
For  there  is  physician  but  one 
That  may  me  heal  ;  but  that  is  done. 

Her  name,  he  says  about  the  same  time,  is  Bounty, 
Beauty,  and  Pleasance ;  but  her  surname  is  Fair-Ruth- 
less. Again,  he  tells  us  how  he  ran  to  Pity  with  his 
complaints  of  Love's  tyranny ;  but,  alas  ! 

I  found  her  dead,  and  buried  in  an  heart.  .  .  . 
And  no  wight  wot  that  she  is  dead  but  I. 

The  cruel  fair  stands  high  above  him,  a  lady  of  royal 
excellence,  humble  indeed  of  heart,  yet  he  scarce  dares 
to  call  himself  her  servant— 


24  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

Have  mercy  on  me,  thou  serenest  queen, 
That  you  have  sought  so  tenderly  and  yore. 
Let  some  stream  of  your  light  on  me  be  seen, 
That  love  and  dread  you  ever  longer  the  more  ; 
For,  soothly  for  to  say,  I  bear  the  sore, 
And  though  I  be  not  cunning  for  to  plain, 
For  Goddes  love,  have  mercy  on  my  pain  ! 

But  all  is  vain,  for  in  the  end  "Ye  recke  not  whether  I 
float  or  sink."  Like  the  contemporary  poets  of  Piers 
Plowman,  Chaucer  discovered  soon  enough  that  the  high 
road  to  wisdom  lies  through  "  Suffer-both-well-and- 
woe;"  and  that,  before  we  can  possess  our  souls,  we  must 
"  see  much  and  suffer  more."  *  There  is  more  than  mere 
graceful  irony  in  the  beautiful  lines  with  which,  a  few 
years  later,  he  begins  his  "Troilus  and  Criseyde."  He  is 
(he  says)  the  bondservant  of  Love,  one  whose  own  woes 
help  him  to  comfort  others'  pain,  or  again,  to  enlist  the 
sympathy  of  Fortune's  favourite — 

But  ye  lovdres,  that  bathen  in  gladness, 
If  any  drop  of  pity  in  you  be, 
Remembreth  you  on  passdd  heaviness 
That  ye  have  felt,  and  on  th'  adversitie 
Of  other  folk,  and  thinketh  how  that  yc 
Have  felt  that  Love  durstij  you  displease. 
Or  ye  have  won  him  with  too  great  an  ease. 

And  prayeth  for  them  that  be  in  the  case 
Of  Troilus,  as  ye  may  after  hear, 
That  Love  them  bring  in  heaven  to  solace  ; 
And  eke  for  mc  prayeth  to  God  so  dear.  .  .  . 

And  biddeth  eke  for  them  that  be  despaired 
In  love,  tliat  never  will  recovered  be.  .  .  . 

And  biddeth  eke  for  them  that  be  at  case. 
That  God  them  grant  aye  good  persdverance, 
And  send  them  might  their  ladies  so  to  please 
That  it  to  Love  be  worship  and  pleasance. 
For  so  hope  I  my  soule  best  t'  advance. 
To  pray  for  them  that  Love's  servants  be. 
And  write  their  woe,  and  live  in  charitie. 

*  "  P.  Plowman,'  B.,  x  ,  157,  and  \i.,  402. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   KING'S   SQUIRE 

For  I,  that  God  of  Love's  servants  serve, 

Dare  not  to  Love  for  mine  unlikeliness 

Prayen  for  speed,  though  I  should  therefore  sterve, 

So  far  am  I  from  this  help  in  darkness ! 

"Troilus  and  Criseyde,"  i.,  15 

IN  Chaucer's  life,  as  in  the  " Seven  Ages  of  Man,"  the 
soldier  follows  hard  upon  the  lover ;  he  is  scarcely 
out  of  his  'teens  before  we  find  him  riding  to  the  Great 
War,  "  in  hope  to  stonden  in  his  lady  grace."  He  fought 
in  that  strange  campaign  of  1359-60,  which  began  with 
such  magnificent  preparations,  but  ended  so  ineffectually. 
Edward  marched  across  PVance  from  Calais  to  Reims 
with  a  splendid  army  and  an  unheard-of  baggage  train  ; 
but  the  towns  closed  their  gates,  the  French  armies 
hovered  out  of  his  reach,  and  the  weather  was  such  that 
horses  and  men  died  like  flies.  "The  xiii.  day  of  Aprill 
[1360]  King  Edward  with  his  Oost  lay  before  the  Citee 
off  Parys ;  the  which  was  a  ffoule  Derke  day  of  myste, 
and  off  haylle,  and  so  bytter  colde,  that  syttyng  on  horse 
bak  men  dyed.  Wherefore,  unto  this  day  yt  ys  called 
blak  Monday,  and  wolle  be  longe  tyme  here  affter."  * 
Edward  felt  that  the  stars  fought  against  him,  and  was 
glad  to  make  a  less  advantageous  peace  than  he  might 
have  had  before  this  wasteful  raid.  Chaucer's  friend 
and  brother-poet,  Eustache  Deschamps,  recalls  how  the 
English  took  up  their  quarters  in  the  villages  and  con- 
vents that  crown  the  heights  round  Reims,  and  watched 

*  "  Chronicles  of  London,"  ed.  Kingsford,  p.  13. 


26  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

forty  days  for  a  favourable  opportunity  of  attack. 
Froissart  also  tells  us  how  Edward  feared  to  assault 
so  strong  a  city,  and  only  blockaded  it  for  seven  weeks, 
until  "  it  began  to  irk  him,  and  his  men  found  nought 
more  to  forage,  and  began  to  lose  their  horses,  and  were 
at  great  disease  for  lack  of  victuals."  It  was  probably 
on  one  of  these  foraging  parties  that  Chaucer  was  cut 
off  with  other  stragglers  by  the  French  skirmishers  ;  and 
the  King  paid  £i6  towards  his  ransom.*  The  items  in 
the  same  account  range  from  £so  paid  towards  the 
ransom  of  Richard  Stury  (a  distinguished  soldier  who 
was  afterwards  a  fellow-ambassador  of  Chaucer's),  to 
£6  13s.  ^d.  "in  compensation  for  the  Lord  Andrew 
Lutterell's  dead  horse,"  and  £2  towards  an  archer's 
ransom. 

John  Chaucer  died  in  1366,  and  his  thrifty  widow 
hastened  to  marry  Bartholomew  Attechapel ;  "  the 
funeral  bakemeats  did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage 
tables."  t  Geoffrey  appears  to  have  inherited  little 
property  from  either  of  them ;  but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  economies  were  difficult  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
so  that  men  lived  far  more  nearly  up  to  their  incomes 
than  in  modern  times;  and,  again,  that  a  considerable 
proportion  of  a  citizen's  legacies  often  went  to  the  Church. 
The  healthy  English  and  American  practice  of  giving 
a  boy  a  good  start  and  then  leaving  him  to  shift  for 
himself  was  therefore  even  more  common  in  the  14th 
century  than  now.  This  is  essentially  the  state  of 
things  which  we  find  described  with  amazement,  and 
doubtless  with  a  good  deal  of  exaggeration,  in  the 
"  Italian  Relation  of  England  "  of  a  century  later.  The 
English  tradesmen  (says  the  author)  show  so  little  affec- 
tion towards  their  children  that  "after  having  kept  them 
at  home  till  they  arrive  at  the  age   of  seven    or  nine 

*  These  sums  should  be  multiplied  by  about  fifteen  to  bring  them 
into  terms  of  modern  currency. 

t  The  poet's  grandmother  was  married  at  least  thrice.  Did  he  find 
hints  for  the  ''  Wife  of  Bath  "  in  his  own  family.'' 


THE    KING'S    SQUIRE  27 

years  at  the   utmost,  they  put  them   out,  both   males 
and   females,  to  hard   service   in   the   houses   of  other 
people,  binding  them   generally  for  another  seven  or 
nine  years."     Thus   the   children   look  more   to   their 
masters  than  to  their  natural  parents,  and,  "having  no 
hope  of  their  paternal   inheritance,"   set   up   on   their 
own  account  and  marry  away  from  home.*     From  this 
source  (proceeds  the  Italian)  springs  that  greed  of  gain 
and   that    omnipotence   of  mone}^   even   in   the   moral 
sphere,  which  are  so  characteristic  of  England.     John 
Chaucer  may  have  left  little  property  to  his  son,  but 
he  had  given  him  an  excellent  education,  and  put  him 
in  the  way  of  making  his  own  fortune;  for  in  1367  we 
find  him  a  yeoman  of  the  King's  chamber,  and  endowed 
with  a  life-pension   of  twenty  marks   "  of  our  special 
grace,  and  for  the   good  services   which   our   beloved 
yeoman  Geoffrey  Chaucer  hath  rendered  us  and  shall 
render  us  for  the  future."    The  phrase  makes  it  probable 
that  he  had  already  been  some  little  time  in  the  King's 
service — very  likely  as  early  as  the  unlucky  campaign 
in  which  Edward  had  helped  towards  his  ransom — and 
other  indications  make  it  almost  certain  that  he  was  by 
this  time  a  married  man.     Nine  years  before  this,  side 
by  side  with  Chaucer  in  the  Countess  of  Ulster's  house- 
hold accounts,  we  find  among  the  ladies  one  Philippa 
Pan',  with  a  mark  of  abbreviation,  which  probably  stands 
for  panetaria,  or   mistress  of  the  pantry.     Just  as  the 
Countess  bought  Chaucer's  red-and-black  hosen,  so  she 
paid  "  for  the  making  of  Philippa's  trimmings,"  "  for  the 
fashioning  of  one  tunic  for  Philippa," f  "for  the  making 
of  a  corset   for   Philippa   and  for  the  fur-work,"   "  for 
XLVIII  great  buttons  of  .  .  .  [unfortunate  gap  in  the 

*  Quoted  by  Dr.  Furnivall  on  p.  xv.  of  his  introduction  to  "  Manners 
and  Meals"  (E.E.T.S.,  1868). 

t  This  tunic  would,  no  doubt,  be  a  cote-hardie,  or  close-fitting  bodice 
and  flowing  skirt  in  one  line  from  neck  to  feet ;  it  may  be  seen,  buttons 
and  all,  on  the  statuette  of  Edward  III.'s  eldest  daughter  which  adorns 
his  tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey. 


28  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

MS.]  .  .   .    bought   in    London   by   the   aforesaid  John 
Massingham    for    buttoning    the    aforesaid    Philippa's 
trimmings";  and  in  each  case  her  steward  records  the 
payment  "for  drink  given  to  the   aforesaid  workmen 
according  to  the  custom  of  London."     Eight  years  after 
this   (1366)   the   Queen   granted   a   life-pension    to   her 
"damoiselle  of  the  chamber,"  Philippa  Chaucer.      Six 
years   later,   again,   Philippa  Chaucer   is  in  attendance 
upon  John  of  Gaunt's  wife  ;  and  in  another  two  years 
we  find  her  definitely  spoken  of  as  the  wife  of  Geoffrey 
Chaucer,  through  whose  hands  her  pension  is  paid  on 
this   occasion,  and   sometimes   in  later  years.     On  the 
face  of  these  documents  the  obvious  conclusion  would 
seem  to  be  that   the  lady,  who  was  certainly  Philippa 
Chancer  in   1366,  and  equally  certainly  Philippa,  wife  of 
Geoffrey  Chaucer,  in  1374,  was  already  in  1366  our  poet's 
wife.     The   only  argument  of  apparent   weight   which 
has  been  urged  against  it  is  in  fact  of  very  little  account 
when  we  consider  actual  medieval  conditions.     It  has 
been  pleaded  that  if  Chaucer  complained  in  1366  of  an 
unrequited  love  which  had  tortured  him  for  eight  years 
and  still  overshadowed  his  life,  he  could  not  alread}^  be 
a  married  man.     To  urge  this  is  to  neglect  one  of  the 
most   characteristic    features   of   good    society   in    the 
Middle   Ages.      Even    Leon    Gautier,    the    enthusiastic 
apologist    of   chivalry,    admits    sadl}^   that    the    feudal 
marriage  was  too  often  a  loveless   compact,  except  so 
far  as  the  pair  might  shake  down  together  afterwards ;  * 
and  conjugal  love  plays  a  very  secondary  part  in    the 
great  romances  of  chivalry.     However  apocryphal  may 
be   the    alleged    solemn   verdict    of   a   Court   of   Love 
that  husband  and  wife  had  no  right  to  be  in  love  with 
each  other,  the  sentence  was  at  least  recognized  as  ben 
trovato ;  and  nobody  who  has  closely  studied  medieval 
society,    either    in    romance    or    in    chronicle,    would 
suppose  that  Chaucer  blushed  to  feel  a  hopeless  passion 
for  another,  or  to  write  openly  of  it  while  he   had  a 

*  "  La  Chc\  aleric,"  Noiu  elle  Edition,  pp.  342,  345  ft". 


THE   KING^S   SQUIRE  29 

wife  of  his  own.  Dante's  Beatrice,  and  probably 
Petrarch's  Laura,  were  married  women ;  and,  however 
strongly  we  may  be  inclined  to  urge  the  exceptional 
and  ethereal  nature  of  these  two  cases,  nothing  of  the 
kind  can  be  pleaded  for  Boccaccio's  Fiammetta  and 
Froissart's  anonymous  lady-love.  Chaucer,  therefore, 
might  well  have  followed  the  examples  of  the  four 
greatest  writers  of  his  century.  Moreover,  in  this  case 
we  have  evidence  that  he  and  Philippa  not  only  began, 
but  continued  and  ended  with  at  least  a  homoeopathic 
dose  of  that  "little  aversion"  which  Mrs.  Malaprop  so 
strongly  recommended  in  matrimony.  His  allusions  to 
wedded  life  are  predominantly  disrespectful,  or  at  best 
mockingly  ironical ;  and  though  his  own  marriage  may 
well  have  steadied  him  in  some  ways — Prof  Skeat 
points  out  that  his  least  moral  tales  were  all  written 
after  Philippa's  death  in  1387 — yet  the  evidence  is 
against  his  having  found  in  it  such  companionship  as 
might  have  chained  his  too  errant  fancy.  The  lives  of 
Burne-Jones  and  Morris  throw  unexpected  sidelights 
on  that  of  the  master  whom  they  loved  so  well ;  and 
neither  of  them  seems  fully  to  have  realized  how  much 
his  own  development  owed  to  modern  things  for  which 
seventeen  generations  of  men  have  struggled  and 
suffered  since  Chaucer's  time.  No  artist  of  the  Middle 
Ages — or,  indeed,  of  any  but  quite  recent  times — could 
have  earned  by  his  genius  a  passport  into  society  for 
wife  and  family  as  well  as  himself;  nor  could  anything 
but  a  miracle  have  unbarred  for  Chaucer  that  paradise  of 
splendid  work,  pure  domestic  felicity,  and  social  success 
which  attracts  us  so  much  in  the  life  of  Burne-Jones.""' 
His  wife  was  probabl}^  rather  his  social  superior,  and 
both  would  have  had  in  any  case  a  certain  status  as 
attendants  at  Court;  but  that  was  in  itself  an  unhealthy 
life,  and  so  far  as  Chaucer's  poetr}^  raised  him  above 
his  fellow  yeomen  or  fellow  squires,  so  far  that  special 
favour  would  tend  to  separate  him  from  his  wife.  A 
*  See  the  author's  "  From  St.  Francis  to  Dante,"  2nd  ed.,  pp.  350  tl. 


80  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

courtly  poet's  married  life  could  scarcely  be  happy  in 
an  age  compounded  of  such  social  licence  and  such 
galling  restrictions :  an  age  when  a  man  might  recite 
the  Miller's  and  Reve's  tales  in  mixed  company,  yet 
a  girl  was  expected  not  to  speak  till  she  was  addressed, 
to  fold  her  hands  when  she  sat  down,  to  keep  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground  as  she  walked,  to  assume  that  all 
talk  of  love  meant  illicit  love,  and  to  avoid  even  the 
most  natural  familiarities  on  pain  of  scandal*  We  may 
very  easily  exaggerate  the  want  of  harmony  in  the 
Chaucer  household ;  but  everything  tends  to  assure 
us  that  his  was  not  altogether  an  ideal  marriage.  When, 
therefore,  he  tells  us  he  has  long  been  the  servant  of 
Love,  and  that  he  is  the  very  clerk  of  Love,  we  need 
not  suppose  any  reference  here  to  the  lady  who  had 
been  his  wife  certainly  for  some  years,  and  perhaps 
for  nearly  twenty.  Prof  Hales,  however,  seems  to  go 
a  good  deal  too  far  in  assuming  that  Philippa  was  in 
attendance  on  Constance,  Duchess  of  Lancaster,  while 
her  husband  lived  snugly  in  bachelor  apartments  over 
Aldgate.t 

But  who,  it  may  be  asked,  was  this  Philippa  of  the 
Pantry  before  she  became  Philippa  Chaucer  ?  Here 
again  the  indications,  though  tantalizingly  slight,  all 
point  towards  some  connection  with  John  of  Gaunt, 
Chaucer's  great  patron.  She  was  probably  either  a 
Swynford  or  a  Roet,  i.e.  sister-in-law  or  own  sister  to 
Katherine  Roet,  who  married  Sir  Thomas  Swynford, 
and  who  became  in  after  life  first  mistress  and  finally 
wife   to    John    of   Gaunt.      From    this    marriage   were 

*  That  tales  like  these  were  read  before  ladies  appears  even  from 
Bddier's  judicial  remarks  in  Petit  de  Juleville's  "  Hist.  Litt.,"  vol.  ii,,  p.  93  ; 
and  I  have  shown  elsewhere  that  these  represent  rather  less  than  the 
facts.  ("  From  St.  Francis  to  Dante,"  2nd  ed.,  pp.  358,  359.)  For  girls' 
behaviour,  see  T.  Wright's  "Womankind  in  Western  Europe,"  pp.  158, 
159  ;  "  Le  Livre  du  Chevalier  de  la  Tour,"  chap.  124  fif.  ;  or  "  La  Tour 
Landry,"  E.E.T.S.,  pp.  2,  175  ^^ 

t  "House  of  Fame,"  Bk.  II.,  1.  108  ;  "  Troiliis,"  Bk.  III.,  1.  41  ;  Prof. 
Hales,  in  "Diet.  Nat.  Biog." 


THE   KING^S   SQUIRE  31 

descended  the  great  Beaufort  family,  of  which  the  most 
powerful  member,  the  Cardinal  Minister  of  Henry  VI., 
speaks  in  one  of  his  letters  of  his  cousm,  Thomas 
Chaucer,*  This  again  is  complicated  by  the  doubt 
which  has  been  thrown  on  a  Thomas  Chaucer's  sonship 
to  Geoffrey,  in  spite  of  the  definite  assertion  by  the 
former's  contemporary,  Gascoigne,  Chancellor  of  Oxford 
University. 

Meanwhile,  however,  we  are  certain  that  Chaucer 
was  in  1367  a  Yeoman  of  Edward  III.'s  Chamber, 
and  that  he  was  promoted  five  years  later  to  be  a 
squire  in  the  Royal  household.  The  still  existing 
Household  Ordinances  of  Edward  II.  on  one  side,  and 
Edward  IV.  on  the  other,  agree  so  closely  in  their 
description  of  the  duties  of  these  two  offices,  that  we 
may  infer  pretty  exactly  what  they  were  in  Chaucer's 
time.  The  earlier  ordinances  prescribe  that  the  yeomen 
"shall  serve  in  the  chamber,  making  beds,  holding  and 
carrying  torches,  and  divers  other  things  which  [the 
King]  and  the  chamberlain  shall  command  them.  These 
[yeomen]  shall  eat  in  the  chamber  before  the  King. 
And  each  of  them,  be  he  well  or  ill,  shall  have  for  livery 
one  darref  of  bread,  one  gallon  of  beer,  a  inesse  de  gros% 
from  the  kitchen,  and  yearly  a  robe  in  cloth  or  a  mark 
in  money;  and  for  shoes  4s.  8</.,  at  two  seasons  in  the 
year.§  And  if  any  of  them  be  sent  out  of  the  Court 
in  the  King's  business,  by  his  commandment,  he  shall 
have  /^d.  a  day  for  his  expenses."  The  later  ordinances 
add  to  these  duties  "to  attend  the  Chamber,  to  watch 
the  King  by  course,  to  go  messages,  etc."  The  yeomen 
were  bedded  two  by  two,  apparently  on   the   floor  of 

*  "  Life  Records,"  IV.,  Doc.  No.  286. 

t  "Dole,"  "ration." 

X  "Mess  of  great  meat,"  i.e.  from  one  of  the  staple  dishes,  excluding 
such  special  dishes  as  would  naturally  be  reserved  for  the  King  or  his 
guests. 

§  The  legal  tariff  in  the  City  of  London  at  this  time  for  shoes  of 
cordwain  (Cordova  morocco)  was  bd.,  and  for  boots  y.  6d.  Cowhide 
shoes  were  fixed  at  5c/.,  and  boots  at  '^s.     Riley,  "  Liber  Albus,"  p.  .\c. 


32  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

the  great  hall,  so  that  visitors  to  Westminster  Hall 
may  well  happen  to  tread  on  the  spot  where  Chaucer 
nightly  lay  down  to  sleep.  When  he  became  a  squire, 
he  might  either  have  found  himself  still  on  duty  in  the 
King's  chamber,  or  else  an  "  Esquire  for  the  King's 
mouth,"  to  taste  the  food  for  fear  of  poison,  to  carve 
for  the  King,  and  to  serve  his  wine  on  bended  knee.  He 
still  shared  a  bed  with  some  fellow  squire;  but  they  now 
shared  a  servant  also  and  a  private  room,  to  which  each 
might  bring  at  night  his  gallon  or  half  gallon  of  ale ; 
"and  for  winter  season,  each  of  them  two  Paris  candles, 
one  faggot,  or  else  a  half  of  tallwood."  Besides  his 
mess  of  great  meat,  he  might  now  take  a  mess  of  roast 
also;*  his  wages  were  raised  to  y\d.  per  day,  and  he 
received  yearly  "  two  robes  of  cloth,  or  405.  in  money." 
Moreover,  as  the  Household  Book  of  Edward  IV.  adds, 
"these  esquires  of  household  of  old  be  accustomed, 
winter  and  summer,  in  afternoons  and  in  evenings  to 
draw  to  Lords  Chambers  within  Court,  there  to  keep 
honest  company  after  their  cunning,  in  talking  of 
Chronicles  of  Kings,  and  of  other  policies,  or  in  piping 
or  harping,  singing,  or  other  acts  martial,  to  help  to 
occupy  the  Court,  and  accompany  strangers  till  the 
time  require  of  departing."  The  same  compiler  looks 
back  to  Edward  III.'s  time  as  the  crown  and  glory 
of  English  Court  life ;  and  indeed  that  King  lived  on 
a  higher  scale  (as  things  went  in  those  days)  than 
any  other  medieval.  English  King  except  his  inglorious 
grandson,  Richard  II.  King  John  of  France  might 
indeed  marvel  to  find  himself  among  a  nation  of 
shopkeepers,  and  laugh  at  the  thrift  and  order  which 


*  This  was  exactly  the  commons  of  a  chaplain  of  the  King's  chapel 
("Life  Records,"  ii.,  15).  The  Dean  of  the  Chapel  was  dignified  with 
"  two  darres  of  bread,  one  pitcher  of  wine,  two  messes  de  grosse  from 
tiie  kitchen,  and  one  mess  of  roast."  Some  of  this,  no  doubt,  would  go 
to  his  servant.  All  the  King's  household,  from  the  High  Steward  down- 
wards (who  might  be  a  knight  banncret\  were  allowed  these  messes 
from  the  kitchen  as  well  as  their  dinners  in  hall. 


THE   KING'S   SQUIRE  33 

underlay  even  his  Royal  cousin's  extravagances.*     But 
John's  son,  Charles   the   Wise,   was   destined   to   earn 
that  surname  by  nothing   more  than   by  his   imitation 
of  English  business   methods   in  peace  and  war ;  and 
meanwhile  the  longest  laugh  was  with  Edward,  whose 
Court  swarmed  with   French  prisoners  and   hostages. 
Among  the  enforced  guests  were  King  John  himself, 
four  royal  dukes,  the  flower  of  the  nobility,  and  thirty- 
six  substantial  citizens  sent  over  by  the  great  towns 
as   pledges   for    the   enormous  war  indemnity,   which 
was  in  fact  never  fully  paid.     All  these  were  probably 
still   at   Court  when   Chaucer   first  joined   it,  and   few 
poets  have  ever  feasted  their  youthful  eyes  on  more 
splendid  sights   than   this.      Palaces   and   castles  were 
filled  to  overflowing  with  the  spoils  of  France ;  and  the 
prisoners  themselves  vied  with  their  captors  in  knightly 
sports  and  knightly  magnificence.      One   of  the   royal 
princes  had  sixteen  servants  with  him  in  his  captivity; 
all  moved  freely  about  the  country  on  parole,  hawking 
and  hunting,  dancing   and  flouting,   rather   like  guests 
than   prisoners.      Indeed,  as    Mme.    Darmesteter   truly 
remarks,  there  was  a  natural  freemasonry  between  the 
French  nobility  and   the   French-speaking  courtiers   of 
England ;  and  Froissart  draws  a  vivid  contrast  between 
our  manners  and  those  of  the  Germans  in  this  respect. 
"  For  English  and  Gascons  are  of  such  condition  that 
they  put  a  knight  or  a  squire  courteously  to  ransom ; 
but   the   custom   of  the   Germans,    and   their   courtesy 
[to  their  prisoners]  is  of  no  such  sort  hitherto — I  know 
not  how  they  will  do  henceforth — for  hitherto  they  have 
had   neither   pity   nor   mercy  on   Christian   gentlemen 
who  fall  into  their  hands  as  prisoners,  but  lay  on  them 

*  "This  same  year  [1359]  the  King  held  royally  St.  George  Feast  at 
Windsor,  there  being  King  John  of  France,  the  which  King  John  said 
in  scorn  that  he  never  saw  so  royal  a  feast,  and  so  costly,  made  with 
tallies  of  tree,  without  paying  of  gold  and  silver "  ("  Chronicles  of 
London,"  ed.  1827,  p.  63).  Queen  Philippa  received  for  this  tournament 
a  dress  allowance  of  ^3000  modern  money  (Nicolas,  "  Order  of  the 
Garter,"  p.  41). 

D 


34  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

ransoms  to  the  full  of  their  estate  and  even  beyond, 
and  put  them  in  chains,  in  irons,  and  in  close  prison 
like  thieves  and  murderers ;  and  all  to  extort  the  greater 
ransom."  *    The  French  lords  added  rather  to  the  gaiety 
of  a  Court  which  was  already  perhaps  the  gayest  in 
Europe ;    a    society  all    the    merrier    because    it  was 
spending  money  that  had  been   so   quickly  won ;    and 
because,  in  those  days  of  shifting  fortune,  the  shadow 
of  change  might  already  be  foreboded  on  the  horizon. 
Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  may  be  captives 
in  our  turn.     Few  of  the  great  leaders  on  either  side 
escaped  without  paying  ransom  at  least  once  in  their 
lives ;  and  the  devil-may-care  of  the  camp  had  its  direct 
influence    on    Court    manners.      The   extravagant   and 
comparatively  inartistic  fashions  which,  at  the  end  of 
the    14th   century,  displaced   one   of  the   simplest   and 
most  beautiful  models  of  dress  which  have  ever  reigned, 
were  invented,  as  a  contemporary  assures  us,  by  "  the 
unthrifty    women    that     be    evil    of    their    body,    and 
chamberers  to  Englishmen  and  other  men  of  war  that 
dwellen  with  them  as  their  lemans ;  for  they  were  the 
first  that   brought  up  this  estate  that  ye  use  of  great 
purfles  and  slit  coats.  .  .  .  And  as  to  my  wife,  she  shall 
not;    but  the  princesses  and  ladies   of  England   have 
taken  up  the  said   state  and  guise,  and  they  may  well 
hold  it  if  them  list."t    Towards  the  end  of  Chaucer's 
life,    when    Richard    II.    had    increased    his    personal 
expenses  in  direct  proportion  to  his  ill-success  in  war 
and   politics,    the    English    Court   reached    its   highest 
pitch     of    extravagance.       The     chronicler     Hardyng 
writes — 

"  Truly  I  herd  Robert  Ircliffe  say, 
Clcrkc  of  the  grcne  cloth,  that  to  the  household 
Came  every  daye,  for  moost  partie  alwayc, 

*  Froissart,  ed.  Luce,  vol.  v.,  p.  289,  ff.  Walsingham  ("  Hist.  Aug.," 
an.  1389)  bears  equally  emphatic  testimony  to  the  good  natural  feeling 
existing  between  the  English  and  French  gentry. 

t  "  Knight  of  La  Tour-Landry,"  E.E.T.S,,  p.  30  (written  in  137 1-2). 


THE   KING'S   SQUIRE  85 

Ten  thousand  folke,  by  his  messes  tould, 
That  followed  the  hous,  aye,  as  thei  would  ; 
And  in  the  kechin  three  hundred  servitours, 
And  in  eche  office  many  occupiours. 

"  And  ladies  faire  with  their  gentilwomen, 
Chamberers  also  and  lavenders, 
Three  hundred  of  them  were  occupied  then  : 
Ther  was  greate  pride  among  the  officers, 
And  of  al  menne  far  passyng  their  compeers, 
Of  riche  araye,  and  muche  more  costious 
Than  was  before  or  sith,  and  more  precious." 

And  he  adds  a  description  of  Court  morals  which 
may  well  suggest  further  reflections  on  Chaucer's 
married  life.* 

But  the  Court  was  all  that  the  poet  could  desire  as 
a  school  of  worldly  manners,  of  human  passion  and 
character,  and  of  gorgeous  pageantry.  The  King 
travelled  much  with  his  household ;  a  grievous  burden 
indeed  to  the  poor  country  folk  on  whom  his  purveyors 
preyed,  but  to  the  world  in  general  a  glorious  sight. 
He  took  with  him  a  multitude  of  officers  already  sup- 
pressed as  superfluous  in  the  days  of  Edward  IV.,  "as 
well  Sergeants  of  Arms  and  Messagers  many,  with  the 
twenty-four  Archers  before  the  King,  shooting  when 
he  rode  by  the  country,  called  Card  Corpes  le  Roy.  And 
therefore  the  King  journied  not  passing  ten  or  twelve 
miles  a  day."  Ruskin  traces  much  of  his  store  of  obser- 
vation to  the  leisurely  journeys  round  England  with  his 
father  in  Mr.  Telford's  chaise ;  and  the  young  Chaucer 
must  have  gathered  from  these  Royal  progresses  a  rich 
harvest  of  impressions  for  future  use. 

*  Eustache  Deschamps,  whose  life  and  writings  often  throw  so  much 
light  on  Chaucer's,  shows  us  the  difficulties  of  married  men  at  court,  and 
says  outright — 

"  Dix  et  sept  ans  ai  au  Satan  servi 
Au  monde  aussi  et  a  la  chair  pourrie, 
Oublie  Dieu,  et  mon  corps  asservi 
A  cette  cour,  de  tout  vice  nourrie." 

(Sarradin,  "  Eustache  Deschamps,"  pp.  92  ff.,  104,  160.) 


CHAPTER   IV 
THE   AMBASSADOR 

"  Adieu,  mol  lit,  adieu,  piteux  regards  ; 
Adieu,  pain  frais  que  Ton  soulait  trouvcr  ; 
II  me  convient  porter  honneur  aux  lards  ; 
II  convient  ail  et  biscuit  avaler, 
Et  chevaucher  un  pdrilleux  cheval." 

EUSTACHE   DESCHAMPS 

ALTHOUGH  we  have  nothing  important  dating 
from  before  his  thirtieth  year,  we  know  from 
Chaucer's  own  words  that  he  wrote  many  "  Balades, 
Roundels,  and  Virelays"  which  are  now  lost;  or,  as  he 
puts  it  in  his  last  rueful  Retractation,  "many  a  song  and 
many  a  lecherous  lay."  These  were  no  doubt  fugitive 
pieces,  often  written  for  different  friends  or  patrons, 
and  put  abroad  in  their  names.  Besides  these,  we 
know  that  he  translated  certain  religious  works, 
including  the  famous  "Misery  of  Human  Life"  of  Pope 
Innocent  the  Third.  Piety  and  Profanity,  prayers  and 
curses,  jostle  each  other  in  Chaucer's  early  life  as  in  the 
society  round  him  :  we  may  think  of  his  own  Ship- 
man,  thoroughly  orthodox  after  his  simple  fashion, 
but  silencing  the  too  Puritanical  parson  with  a  rattling 
oath  at  close  range,  and  proceeding  to  "clynken  so 
mery  a  belle "  that  we  feel  a  sort  of  treachery  in 
pausing  to  wonder  how  such  a  festive  talc  could  be 
brought  forth  for  a  company  of  pilgrims  as  a  pill  to 
purge  heterodoxy ! 

The  first  of  his  early  poems  which  we  can  date  with 
any  certainty  is  also  the  best  worth  dating.  This  is  the 
"  Dethe  of  Blaunche  the  Duchesse,"  in  memory  of  John 


THE   AMBASSADOR  37 

of  Gaunt's  first  wife,  who  died  in  September,  1369,  The 
poem  is  obviously  immature  and  unequal,  but  full  of 
delightful  passages,  fresh  to  us  even  where  the  critics 
trace  them  to  some  obvious  French  source.  Such,  for 
instance,  is  the  beginning  of  his  dream,  where  he 
describes  the  inevitable  May  morning — inevitable  in 
medieval  verse,  but  here  and  there,  when  he  or  his 
fellow-poets  are  in  their  happiest  mood,  as  fresh  again 
as  Nature  herself,  who  is  never  tired  of  harping  on  the 
same  old  themes  of  sunshine  and  blue  sky  and  fresh 
air.  He  wakes  at  dawn  to  hear  the  birds  singing  their 
matins  at  his  eaves;  his  bedroom  walls  are  painted 
with  scenes  from  the  "  Romance  of  the  Rose,"  and 
broad  sunlight  streams  through  the  storied  glass  upon 
his  bed.  He  throws  open  the  casement :  "  blue,  bright, 
clear  was  the  air,  nor  in  all  the  welkin  was  one  cloud." 
A  bugle  rings  out ;  he  hears  the  trampling  of  horse  and 
hounds;  the  Emperor  Octavian's  hunt  is  afoct — or,  in 
plainer  prose.  King  Edward  the  Third's.  The  poet 
joins  them ;  a  puppy  comes  up  fawning,  starting  away, 
fawning  again,  until  it  has  led  him  apart  from  the  rest. 

It  came  and  crept  to  me  as  low 

Right  as  it  hadde  me  y-knowe, 

Held  down  his  head  and  joined  his  ears, 

And  laid  all  smoothe  down  his  hairs. 

I  would  have  caught  it,  and  anon 

It  fled,  and  was  from  me  gone  ; 

And  I  him  followed,  and  it  forth  went 

Down  by  a  flowery  greene  went  [glade  * 

Full  thick  of  grass,  full  soft  and  sweet 

With  floweres  fele,  fair  under  feet.  [many 

Here  he  finds  a  young  knight  all  in  black,  mourning 
by  himself  A  little  unobtrusive  sympathy  unlocks 
the  young  man's  heart.  She  was  "  my  hap,  my  heal, 
and  all  my  bliss;"  "and  goode  faire  White  she  bight." 
The  first  meeting  had  been  as  sudden  as  that  of  Dante 
and  Beatrice  :  a  medieval  garden-party — "  the  fairest 
companye  of  ladies,  that  ever  man  with  eye  had  seen 

*  See  Preface  to  Second  Edition,  ad  fin. 


38  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

together  in  one  place,"  and  one  among  them  who  "  was 
like  none  of  all  the  rout,"  but  who  outshone  the  rest  as 
the  sun  outshines  moon  and  stars — 

For  every  hair  upon  her  head, 
Sooth  to  say,  it  was  not  red  ; 
Nor  neither  yellow  nor  brown  it  was, 
Me  thoughte  most  like  gold  it  was. 

Her  eyes  shone  with  such  simple  enjoyment  of  life  that 
"fools"  were  apt  to  read  a  special  welcome  in  her 
glance,  to  their  bitter  disappointment  in  course  of  time. 
She  disdained  the  "knakkes  smale,"  the  little  coquettish 
tricks  of  certain  other  ladies,  Vv^ho  send  their  lovers  half 
round  the  world,  and  give  them  but  cold  cheer  on  their 
return.  The  rest  of  the  personal  description  is  more 
commonplace,  and  (however  faithful  to  medieval  prece- 
dent) a  little  too  like  some  modern  sportsman's  enume- 
ration of  his  horse's  points.  The  course  of  true  love 
did  not  run  too  smoothly  here.  On  the  knight's  first 
proposal,  "she  saidc  'nay!'  all  utterly."  But  "another 
year,"  when  she  had  learned  to  know  him  better,  she 
took  him  to  her  mercy,  and  they  lived  full  many  a  year 
in  bliss,  only  broken  now  by  her  death.  The  poem, 
which  had  rather  dragged  at  the  beginning,  here  ends 
abruptly,  as  though  Chaucer  had  tired  of  it.  He  has  no 
effectual  comfort  to  offer  in  such  a  sorrow;  the  hunt 
breaks  in  upon  their  dialogue ;  King  and  courtiers  ride 
off  to  a  long  white-walled  castle  on  a  hill,  where  a  bell 
rings  the  hour  of  noon  and  wakes  the  poet  from  his 
dream. 

When  we  have  reckoned  up  all  Chaucer's  debts  to 
his  predecessors  in  this  poem — and  they  arc  many — 
there  is  ample  proof  left  of  his  own  originality.  More- 
over, we  cannot  too  often  remind  ourselves  that  the 
idea  of  copyright,  cither  legal  or  moral,  is  modern.  In 
the  scarcity  of  books  which  reigned  before  the  days  of 
printing,  the  poet  who  "conveyed"  most  might  well  be 
the  greatest  benefactor  to  mankind.  The  educated 
public,   so    far   as    such    a   body   then    existed,   rather 


THE   AMBASSADOR  39 

encouraged  than  reprobated  the  practice  of  borrowing ; 
and  the  poet,  like  the  modern  schoolboy  versifier,  was 
applauded  for  his  skill  in  weaving  classical  tags  into  his 
own  work.  Chaucer  differed  from  his  predecessors, 
and  most  of  his  successors,  less  in  the  amount  which  he 
borrowed  than  in  the  extraordinary  vitality  and  origin- 
ality which  he  infused  into  the  older  work.  If  we  had 
only  these  fragments  of  his  early  works,  we  should  still 
understand  how  Deschamps  praises  him  as  "  King  of 
worldly  love  in  Albion  "  ;  we  should  still  feel  something 
of  that  charm  of  language  which  earned  the  poet  his 
popularity  at  Court  and  his  promotion  to  important 
offices. 

It  is  well  known  that  medieval  society  had  not 
developed  the  minute  sub-divisions  of  labour  which 
have  often  been  pushed  to  excess  in  modern  times. 
The  architect  was  simply  a  master-mason ;  the  barber 
was  equally  ready  to  try  his  hand  on  your  beard  or  on 
a  malignant  tumour ;  the  King  might  choose  for  his 
minister  a  frankly  incapable  personal  favourite,  or  send 
out  his  most  gorgeously  accoutred  knights  on  a  recon- 
naissance which  would  have  been  infinitely  better 
carried  out  by  a  trained  scout.  Similarly,  the  poets  of 
the  14th  century  were  very  frequently  sent  abroad  as 
ambassadors  ;  Dante,  Petrarch,  Boccaccio  had  already 
set  Chaucer  this  example,  which  his  friend  Eustache 
Deschamps  was  soon  to  follow.  The  choice  implied, 
no  doubt,  a  subtle  tribute  to  the  power  of  rhetoric, 
under  which  category  poetry  was  often  classed.  The 
rarity  of  book-learning  did  not  indeed  give  the  scholar 
a  higher  value  in  general  society  than  he  commands 
nowadays,  or  bring  more  grist  to  his  mill ;  he  and  his 
horse  were  commonly  lean  enough,  and  his  only  worldly 
treasures  were  his  score  of  books  at  his  bed's  head. 
But  the  medieval  mind,  which  persistently  invested 
lunatics  with  the  highest  prophetic  qualities,  seems  to 
have  had  an  equally  touching  faith  in  poetic  clair- 
voyance at  times  when  common  sense  was  at  fault,  and 


40  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

to  have  called  upon  a  Dante  or  a  Chaucer  just  as,  in 
similar  emergencies,  it  called  upon  particular  saints 
whose  intercession  was  least  invoked  in  everyday  life. 
Much,  of  course,  is  to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that 
formal  and  elaborate  public  speeches  were  as  necessary 
as  spectacular  display  on  these  embassies ;  but,  even 
so,  we  may  wonder  that  the  Ravennati  ever  entrusted 
an  embassy  to  Dante,  who  is  recorded  to  have  been  so 
violent  a  political  partisan  that  he  was  capable  of 
throwing  stones  even  at  women  in  the  excitement  of 
discussion.  Chaucer,  however,  had  neither  the  qualities 
nor  the  defects  of  such  headlong  fanaticism ;  and  from 
the  frequency  with  which  he  was  employed  we  may 
infer  that  he  showed  real  talents  for  diplomacy. 

His  first  employment  of  the  kind  was  in  1370,  when, 
a  year  after  he  had  taken  part  in  a  second  French 
campaign,  he  was  "abroad  in  the  King's  service"  during 
the  summer.  Whither  he  went  is  uncertain,  probably 
to  the  Netherlands  or  Northern  France,  since  his 
absence  was  brief  In  1371  and  1372  he  regularly 
received  his  pension  with  his  own  hands  (as  the  still 
extant  household  accounts  of  Edward  III.  show),  until 
November  of  the  latter  year,  when  he  "was  joined  in 
a  commission  with  James  Pronam  and  John  de  Mari, 
citizens  of  Genoa,  to  treat  with  the  Duke,  citizens,  and 
merchants  of  Genoa,  for  the  purpose  of  choosing  some 
port  in  England  where  the  Genoese  might  form  a  com- 
mercial establishment."*  This  journey  lasted  about  a 
year,  and  Chaucer  received  for  his  expenses  138  marks, 
or  about  ;^i400  modern  value.  The  roll  which  records 
these  payments  mentions  that  Chaucer's  business  had 
taken  him  to  Florence  as  well  as  Genoa;  and  here,  as  so 
often  happens  in  history,  a  stray  word  recorded  in  the 
driest  of  business  documents  opens  out  a  vista  of  things 
in  themselves  most  romantic. 

Of  all  that  makes  the  traveller's  joy  in  modern  Italy, 
the  greater  part  was  already  there  for  Chaucer  to  see, 

*  Quoted  by  Nicolas  from  Rymcr's  "  Fcudera,''  new  ed.,  iii.,  964. 


THE   AMBASSADOR  41 

with  much  more  that  he  saw  and  that  we  never  shall. 
The  sky,  the  air,  and  the  landscape  were  practically  the 
same,  except  for  denser  forests,  and,  no  doubt,  fewer 
lemon  and  orange  trees.  The  traveller,  it  is  true,  was 
less  at  leisure  to  observe  some  of  these  things,  and  less 
inclined  to  find  God's  hand  in  the  mountains  or  the  sea. 
Chaucer  is  so  far  a  man  of  his  time  as  to  show  no 
delight  in  the  sterner  moods  of  Nature ;  we  find  in  his 
works  none  of  that  true  love  of  mountain  scenery  which 
comes  out  in  the  "  Pearl "  and  in  early  Scottish  poetry  ; 
and  when  he  has  to  speak  of  Custance's  sea-voyages,  he 
expedites  them  as  briefly  and  baldly  as  though  they  had 
been  so  many  business  journeys  by  rail.  Deschamps, 
and  the  anonymous  English  poet  of  fifty  years  later, 
show  us  how  little  cause  a  man  had  to  love  even  the 
Channel  passage  in  the  rough  little  boats  of  those  days, 
"a  perilous  horse  to  ride,"  indeed;  rude  and  bustling 
sea-folk,  plentiful  tributes  to  Neptune,  scant  elbow 
room — 

"  Bestow  the  boat,  boatswain,  anon, 
That  our  pilgrims  may  play  thereon  ; 
For  some  are  like  to  cough  and  groan  .  .  , 
This  meanewhile  the  pilgrims  lie 
And  have  their  bowles  fast  them  by 
And  cry  after  hot  Malvoisie  .  .  . 
Some  laid  their  bookes  on  their  knee, 
And  read  so  long  they  might  not  see  : — 
'Alas  !  mine  head  will  cleave  in  three  ! '"  * 

Worse  passages  still  were  matters  of  common 
history;  Froissart  tells  us  how  Herve  de  Leon  "took 
the  sea  [at  Southampton]  to  the  intent  to  arrive  at 
Harfleur ;  but  a  storm  took  him  on  the  sea  which 
endured  fifteen  days,  and  lost  his  horse,  which  were 
cast  into  the  sea,  and  Sir  Herve  of  Leon  was  so  sore 
troubled  that  he  had  never  health  after."  King  John  of 
France,  a  few  years  later,  took  eleven  days  to  cross  the 

*  E.E.T.S.,  "  Stacions  of  Rome,"  etc.,  p.  37.  (The  whole  English 
poem  describes  a  journey  to  Spain  ;  but  as  yet  the  pilgrims  are  not  out 
of  the  Channel.) 


42  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

Channel,  *  and  Edward  III.  had  one  passage  so  painful 
that  he  was  reduced  to  explain  it  by  the  arts  of  "  necro- 
mancers and  wizards."  Moreover,  nearly  all  Chaucer's 
embassies  came  during  those  evil  years  after  our  naval 
defeat  of  1372,  when  our  fleets  no  longer  held  the 
Channel,  and  the  seas  swarmed  with  French  privateers. 
Nor  were  the  mountains  less  hated  by  the  traveller,  or 
less  dangerous  in  reality,  with  their  rude  horse-tracks 
and  ruder  mountain-folk,  half  herdsmen,  half  brigands. 
First  there  were  the  Alps  to  be  crossed,  and  then,  from 
Genoa  to  Florence,  "the  most  desolate,  the  most  solitary 
way  that  lies  between  Lerici  and  Turbia."t  But,  after 
all  these  difficulties,  Italy  showed  herself  as  hospitable 
as  the  approaches  had  been  inhospitable  : 

"  II  fait  bien  bon  demeurer 
Au  doux  chateau  de  Pavie."t 

We  must  not  forget  these  more  material  enjoyments, 
for  they  figure  largel}''  among  the  impressions  of  a  still 
greater  man,  in  whose  intellectual  life  the  journey  to 
Italy  marks  at  least  as  definite  an  epoch  ;  not  the  least 
delightful  passages  of  Goethe's  Italicnische  Reise  are 
those  which  describe  his  delight  in  seeing  the  oranges 
grow,  or  the  strange  fish  brought  out  of  the  sea. 

For  Goethe,  the  soul  of  Italy  was  in  its  pagan 
antiquity  ;  but  Chaucer  found  there  a  living  art  and 
living  literature,  the  noblest  in  the  then  world.  The 
great  semicircle  of  houses  standing  upon  projecting 
arches  round  the  harbour  of  Genoa,  which  survived  to 
be  drawn  by  Ruskin  in  their  decay,  would  at  once  strike 
a  noble  note  of  contrast  to  the  familiar  wooden  dwellings 
built  over  Thames  shingle  at  home ;  everywhere  he 
would  find  greater  buildings  and  brighter  colours  than 
in  our  northern  air.  The  pale  ghosts  of  frescoes  which 
we  study  so  regretfully  were  then  in  their  first  fresh- 
ness,  with    thousands    more    which    have    long    since 

♦  Froissart  (Globe  ed.),  pp.  83,  134  ;  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  206,  213. 

t  Dante,  "  Purg.,"  iii.,  49. 

X  Sarradin,  "  Dcschamps,"  pp.  67,  69. 


THE   AMBASSADOR  43 

disappeared.  Wherever  he  went,  the  cities  were  already 
building,  or  had  newly  built,  the  finest  of  the  Gothic 
structures  which  adorn  them  still ;  and  Chaucer  must 
have  passed  through  Pisa  and  Florence  like  a  new 
yEneas  among  the  rising  glories  of  Carthage.  A  whole 
population  of  great  artists  vied  with  each  other  in  every 
department  of  human  skill — 

"  Qualis  apes  aestate  nova  per  florea  rura 
Exercet  sub  sole  labor —  " 

Giotto  and  Andrea  Pisano  were  not  long  dead ;  their 
pupils  were  carrying  on  the  great  traditions ;  and 
splendid  schools  of  sculpture  and  painting  flourished, 
especially  in  those  districts  through  which  our  poet's 
business  led  him.  Still  greater  was  the  intellectual 
superiority  of  Italy.  To  find  an  English  layman  even 
approaching  in  learning  to  Dante,  or  a  circle  of  English 
students  comparable  to  that  of  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio, 
we  must  go  forward  nearly  two  centuries,  to  Sir  Thomas 
More  and  the  eve  of  the  Reformation.  Moreover,  the 
stimulus  of  Dante's  literary  personality  was  even  greater 
than  the  example  of  his  learning.  On  the  one  hand, 
he  summed  up  much  of  what  was  greatest  in  the 
thought  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  on  the  other,  he  heralded 
modern  freedom  of  thought  by  his  intense  individualism 
and  the  frankness  with  which  he  asserted  his  own 
personal  convictions.  More  significant  even  than  the 
startling  freedom  with  which  Dante  wielded  the  keys 
of  heaven  and  hell  is  the  fundamental  independence  of 
his  whole  scheme  of  thought.  When  he  set  the  con- 
fessedly adulterous  Cunizza  among  the  blessed,  and  cast 
down  so  many  popes  to  hell,  he  was  only  following 
with  unusual  boldness  a  fairly  common  medieval  prece- 
dent. But  in  taking  as  his  chief  guides  through  the 
mysteries  of  religion  a  pagan  poet,  a  philosopher  semi- 
pagan  at  the  best,  and  a  Florentine  lady  whom  he  had 
loved  on  earth — in  this  choice,  and  in  his  correspond- 
ing independence   of  expression,  he   gave   an  impetus 


44  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

to  free  thought  far  beyond  what  he  himself  can  have 
intended.  Virgil's  parting  speech  at  the  end  of  the 
"  Purgatorio,"  "  Henceforward  take  thine  own  will  for 
thy  guide.  ...  I  make  thee  King  and  High  Priest  over 
thyself,"  conveyed  a  licence  of  which  others  availed 
themselves  more  liberally  than  the  man  who  first  uttered 
it.  Dante  does  indeed  work  out  the  problem  of  life  for 
himself,  but  he  does  so  with  the  conclusions  of  St. 
Bernard  and  Hugh,  of  St.  Victor,  St.  Thomas  Aquinas 
and  St.  Bonaventura,  always  before  his  eyes.  Others 
after  him  followed  his  liberty  of  thought  without  starting 
from  the  same  initial  attachment  to  the  great  theologians 
of  the  past;  and,  though  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio  lived  and 
died  as  orthodox  Roman  Catholics,  yet  their  appeal  to 
the  literature  of  antiquity  had  already  begun  the  secular 
and  even  semi-pagan  intellectual  movement  which  goes 
by  the  name  of  the  Renaissance.  In  short,  the  Italian 
intellect  of  the  14th  century  afforded  a  striking  example 
of  the  law  that  an  outburst  of  mysticism  always  provokes 
an  equally  marked  phase  of  free  thought ;  enthusiasm 
may  give  the  first  impulse,  but  cannot  altogether  control 
the  direction  of  the  movement  when  it  has  once  begun. 
It  will  be  seen  later  on  that  Chaucer  was  no  stranger  to 
the  religious  difficulties  of  his  age.  The  ferment  of 
Italian  free  thought  seems  (as  Professor  ten  Brink  has 
remarked)  to  have  worked  effectually  upon  a  mind 
which  "was  going  through  an  intense  religious  crisis."* 
Dante's  mysticism  may  well  have  carried  Chaucer  off 
his  feet  for  a  time  ;  we  probably  owe  to  this,  as  well 
as  to  his  regret  for  much  that  had  been  wasted  in  his 
youth,  the  religious  poems  which  are  among  the  earliest 
extant  from  his  pen.  "  Chaucer's  A.  B.  C,"  a  rapturous 
hymn  to  the  Virgin,  strikes,  from  its  very  first  line,  a 
note  of  fervour  far  beyond  its  French  original;  few 
utterances  of  medieval  devotion  approach  more  peril- 
ously near  to  Mariolatry  than  this— "  Almighty  and 
all-merciable  Queen  "  !   Another  poem  of  the  same  period 

'  "  Hist,  of  Eni,^  Lit.,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  57,  trans.  W.  C.  Robinson. 


THE   AMBASSADOR  45 

is  the  "  Life  of  St.  Cecilia,"  with  its  repentant  prologue, 
its  hymn  to  the  Virgin  translated  from  Dante,  and  its 
fervent  prayer  for  help  against  temptation — 

Now  help,  thou  meek  and  blissful  faire  maid 

Me  flemed  wretch  in  this  desert  of  gall ;  [banished 

Think  on  the  woman  Canaanee,  that  said 

That  whelpes  eaten  some  of  the  crumbes  all 

That  from  their  lordes  table  been  y-fall ; 

And  though  that  I,  unworthy  son  of  Eve 

Be  sinful,  yet  accept  now  my  believe.  .  .  . 

And  of  thy  light  my  soul  in  prison  light, 

That  troubled  is  by  the  contagion 

Of  my  body,  and  also  by  the  weight 

Of  earthly  lust,  and  false  affection  : 

O  haven  of  refuge,  O  salvation 

Of  them  that  be  in  sorrow  and  in  distress 

Now  help,  for  to  my  work  I  will  me  dress.* 

But  much  as  Chaucer  translated  bodily  from  Dante 
in  different  poems,  and  mighty  as  is  the  impulse  which 
he  owns  to  having  received  from  him,  the  great  Floren- 
tine's style  impressed  him  more  deeply  than  his  thought. 
In  matter,  Chaucer  is  far  more  akin  to  Petrarch  and 
Boccaccio,  from  whom  he  also  borrowed  even  more 
freely.  But  in  style  he  owes  most  to  Dante,  as  Dante 
himself  owes  to  Virgil.  We  may  clearly  trace  this 
influence  in  Chaucer's  later  concentration  and  perfection 
of  form ;  in  the  pains  which  he  took  to  bend  his  verse  to 
every  mood,  and  in  the  skilful  blending  of  comedy  and 
tragedy  which  enabled  Chaucer  so  far  to  outdo  Petrarch 
and  Boccaccio  in  the  tales  which  he  borrowed  from 
them.  Much  of  this  was,  no  doubt,  natural  to  him ; 
but  neither  England  nor  France  could  fully  have 
developed  it.  His  two  Italian  journeys  made  him  a 
changed  man,  an  artist  in  a  sense  in  which  the  word  can 
be  used  of  no  English  poet  before   him,  and  of  none 

*  "Cant.  Tales,"  G.,  57  ff.  It  will  be  noted  how  ill  the  phrase  "son 
of  Eve "  suits  the  Nun's  mouth.  In  this,  as  in  other  cases,  Chaucer 
simply  worked  one  of  his  earlier  poems  into  the  framework  of  the 
"  Canterbury  Tales." 


46  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

after  him  until  the  i6th  century  brought  English  men  of 
letters  again  into  close  communion  with  Italian  poetry. 

Did  Chaucer  make  the  personal  acquaintance,  on 
this  first  Italian  journey,  of  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio, 
who  were  beyond  dispute  the  two  greatest  living  men 
of  letters  in  Europe  besides  himself?  His  own  words 
in  the  prologue  of  the  "Clerk's  Tale  "would  seem  to 
testify  to  personal  intercourse  with  the  former;  and 
most  biographers  have  assumed  that  it  is  not  only  the 
fictitious  Clerk,  but  the  real  poet,  who  confesses  to  have 
learned  the  story  of  Griselda  straight  from  Petrarch. 
The  latter,  as  we  know  from  his  own  letters,  was  in 
the  height  of  his  enthusiasm  about  the  tale,  which  he 
had  just  translated  into  Latin  from  the  "  Decameron  " 
during  the  very  year  of  Chaucer's  visit;  and  M.  Jusse- 
rand  justly  points  out  that  the  English  poet's  fame  was 
already  great  enough  in  France  to  give  him  a  ready 
passport  to  a  man  so  interested  in  every  form  of 
literature,  and  with  such  close  French  connections,  as 
Petrarch.  The  meeting  has  been  strongly  doubted, 
partly  on  the  ground  that  whereas  the  Clerk  learned  the 
tale  from  Petrarch  "at  Padua,"  the  aged  poet  was  in 
fact  during  Chaucer's  Italian  journey  at  Arqua,  a  village 
sixteen  miles  off  in  the  Euganean  hills.  It  has,  however, 
been  conclusively  proved  that  the  ravages  of  war  had 
driven  Petrarch  down  from  his  village  into  the  fortified 
town  of  Padua,  where  he  lived  in  security  during  by 
far  the  greater  part,  at  any  rate,  of  this  year;  so  that 
this  very  indication  of  Padua,  which  had  been  hastily 
assumed  as  a  proof  of  Chaucer's  ignorance,  does  in 
fact  show  that  he  possessed  such  accurate  and  un- 
expected information  of  Petrarch's  whereabouts  as 
might,  of  itself,  have  suggested  a  suspicion  of  personal 
intercourse.*     This  is  admirably  illustrated  by  the  story 

*  Sec  a  correspondence  in  the  Athoucum^  Sept.  17  to  Nov.  26,  1898 
(Mr.  C.  n.  Bromby  and  Mr.  St.  Clair  Baddeley),  and  Mr.  F.  J.  Mather's 
two  articles  in  "Modern  Language  Notes"  (BaUimorc),  vol.  xi.,  p.  210, 
and  vol.  xii.,  p.  i. 


THE   AMBASSADOR  47 

of  Chaucer's  relations  with  the  other  great  Italian, 
Boccaccio.  Since  Chaucer  certainly  went  to  F^lorence, 
and  probably  left  only  a  few  weeks,  or  even  a  few  days, 
before  Boccaccio's  first  lecture  there  on  Dante ;  since, 
again,  he  copies  or  translates  from  Boccaccio  even  more 
than  from  Petrarch,  it  has  been  naturally  suggested 
that  the  two  must  have  met.  But  here  we  find  a  curious 
difficulty.  Great  as  are  Chaucer's  literary  obligations 
to  the  author  of  the  "  Decameron,"  he  not  only  never 
mentions  him  by  name,  but,  on  those  occasions  where 
he  quotes  directly  and  professes  to  acknowledge  his 
authority,  he  invariably  gives  some  other  name  than 
Boccaccio's.*  It  is,  of  course,  barely  conceivable  that 
the  two  men  met  and  quarrelled,  and  that  Chaucer, 
while  claiming  the  right  of  "  conveying  "  from  Boccaccio 
as  much  as  he  pleased,  not  only  deliberately  avoided 
giving  the  devil  his  due,  but  still  more  deliberately 
set  up  other  false  figures  which  he  decked  out  with 
Boccaccio's  true  feathers.  But  such  a  theory,  which 
should  surely  be  our  last  resort  in  any  case,  contradicts 
all  that  we  know  of  Chaucer's  character.  Almost 
equally  improbable  is  the  suggestion  that,  without 
any  grudge  against  Boccaccio,  Chaucer  simply  found 
it  convenient  to  hide  the  amount  of  his  indebtedness 
to  him.  Here  again  (quite  apart  from  the  assumed 
littleness  for  which  we  find  no  other  evidence  in 
Chaucer)  we  see  that  in  Dante's  and  Petrarch's  cases 
he  proclaims  his  debt  with  the  most  commendable 
frankness.  The  third  theory,  and  on  the  whole  the 
most  probable,  is  that  Chaucer  translated  from  Italian 
books  which,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  were  anony- 
mous or  pseudonymous.  Medieval  manuscripts  were 
quite  commonly  written  without  anything  like  the 
modern  title-page ;  and,  even  when  the  author's  name 
was  recorded  on  the  first  page,  the  frequent  loss  of  that 
sheet  by  use  left  the  book  nameless,  and  at  the  mercy 
of  any  possessor  who  chose  to  deck  it  with  a  title  after 

*  See  Dr.  Koch's  paper  in  "  Chaucer  Society  Essays,"  Pt.  IV. 


48  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

his  own  fancy.*  Therefore  it  is  not  impossible  that 
Chaucer,  who  trod  the  streets  of  Boccaccio's  Florence, 
and  saw  the  very  trees  on  the  slopes  of  Fiesole  under 
which  the  lovers  of  the  "  Decameron "  had  sat,  and 
missed  by  a  few  weeks  at  most  the  bodily  presence 
of  the  poet,  may  have  translated  whole  books  of  his 
without  ever  realizing  their  true  authorship.  In  those 
days  of  difficult  communication,  no  ignorance  was  im- 
possible. In  1371  the  King's  Ministers  imagined  that 
England  contained  40,000  parishes,  while  in  fact  there 
were  less  than  9000.  Chroniclers,  otherwise  well  in- 
formed, assure  us  that  the  Black  Death  killed  more 
people  in  towns  like  London  and  Norwich  than  had 
ever  lived  in  them.  Bishop  Grandisson  of  Exeter,  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  prelates  of  the  14th  century, 
imagined  Ireland  to  be  a  more  populous  country  than 
England.  It  is  perfectly  possible,  therefore,  that 
Chaucer  and  Boccaccio,  who  were  in  every  way  so 
close  to  each  other  during  these  twelve  months  of 
1372-3,  were  yet  fated  to  remain  strangers  to  each 
other;  and  this  lends  all  the  more  force  to  the  fact  that 
Chaucer  knew  Petrarch  to  have  spent  the  year  at  Padua, 
and  not  at  his  own  home. 

It  may  be  well  to  raise  here  the  further  question  : 
Had  not  Chaucer  already  met  Petrarch  on  an  earlier 
Italian  journey,  which  would  relegate  this  of  1372-3  to 
the  second  place?  In  1368,  Lionel  of  Clarence  was 
married  for  the  second  time  to  Violante  Visconti  of 
Milan.  Petrarch  was  certainly  an  honoured  guest  at 
this  wedding,  and  Speght,  writing  in  1598,  quotes  a 
report  that  Chaucer  was  there  too  in  attendance  on 
his  old  master.  This,  however,  was  taken  as  disproved 
by  the  more  recent  assertion  of  Nicholas  that  Chaucer 
drew  his  pensibn  in  England  "with  his  own  hands" 
during  all  this  time.    Here  again,  however,  Mr.  Bromby's 

*  Froissart's  great  poem  of  Mdliador  thus  became  anonymous  for 
nearly  five  centuries,  and  was  only  identified  by  the  most  romantic 
chance  in  our  own  generation. — Darmesteter,  "  Froissart,"  chap.  xiii. 


THE   AMBASSADOR  49 

researches  have  reopened  the  possibility  of  the  old 
tradition.*  He  ascertained,  by  a  fresh  examination  of 
the  original  Issue  Rolls,  that  the  pension  was  indeed 
paid  to  Geoffrey  Chaucer  on  May  25th,  while  the 
wedding  party  was  on  its  way  to  Milan,  but  the  words 
into  his  own  hands  are  omitted  from  this  particular 
entry.  The  omission  may,  of  course,  be  merely 
accidental ;  but  at  least  it  destroys  the  alleged  disproof, 
and  leaves  us  free  to  take  Speght's  assertion  at  its 
intrinsic  worth.  Chaucer's  own  silence  on  the  subject 
may  have  a  very  sufficient  cause,  the  reason  which  he 
himself  puts  into  the  Knight's  mouth  in  protest  against 
the  Monk's  fondness  for  tragedies — 

...  for  little  heaviness 
Is  right  enough  to  many  folk,  I  guess. 
I  say  for  me  it  is  a  great  dis-ease, 
Where  as  men  have  been  in  great  wealth  and  ease, 
To  hearen  of  their  sudden  fall,  alas  ! 

Few  weddings  have  been  more  tragic  than  that  of 
Chaucer's  old  master.  The  Duke,  tallest  and  hand- 
somest of  all  the  Royal  princes,  set  out  with  a  splendid 
retinue,  taking  457  men  and  1280  horses  over  sea  with 
him.  There  were  great  feasts  in  Paris  and  in  Savoy  by 
the  way;  greater  still  at  Milan  on  the  bridegroom's 
arrival.  But  three  months  after  the  wedding  "my 
lord  Lionel  of  England  departed  this  world  at  Asti 
in  Piedmont.  .  .  .  And,  for  that  the  fashion  of  his  death 
was  somewhat  strange,  my  lord  Edward  Despenser, 
his  companion,  who  was  there,  made  war  on  the  Duke 
of  Milan,  and  harried  him  more  than  once  with  his 
men  ;  but  in  process  of  time  my  lord  the  Count  of 
Savoy  heard  tidings  thereof  and  brought  them  to  one 
accord."  This,  and  another  notice  equally  brief,  is  all 
that  we  get  even  from  the  garrulous  Froissart  about 
this  splendid  and  tragic  marriage,  with  its  suspicion 
of  Italian  poison,  at  which   he   himself  was   present.f 

*  Athenceum,  as  above. 

+  Froissart,  ed.  Buchon,  i.  546,  555  ;  Darmesteter,  p.  32. 
E 


50  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

Why  should  not  Chaucer  have  been  equally  reticent? 
Indeed,  we  know  that  he  was,  for  he  never  alludes  to 
a  tragedy  which  in  any  case  must  have  touched  him 
very  nearly,  just  as  he  barely  mentions  two  other  far 
blacker  chapters  in  his  life — the  Black  Death,  and  Wat 
Tyler's  revolt.  It  is  still  possible,  therefore,  to  hope 
that  he  may  have  met  Petrarch  not  only  at  Padua  in 
1372-3,  but  even  earlier  at  the  magnificent  wedding 
feast  of  Milan. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   MAN   OF   BUSINESS 

"  Oh !   that  any  muse  should  be  set  upon  a  high  stool  to  cast  up 
accounts  and  balance  a  ledger." — Times 

THE  Italian  journey  of  1372-3  was  far  from  being 
Chaucer's  last  embassy.  In  1376  he  was  abroad 
on  secret  service  with  Sir  John  Burley ;  in  February  of 
next  year  he  was  associated  on  another  secret  mission 
with  Sir  Thomas  Percy,  afterwards  Earl  of  Worcester, 
and  Hotspur's  partner  at  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury ;  so 
that  our  poet,  if  he  had  lived  only  three  years  longer, 
would  have  seen  his  old  fellow-envoy's  head  grinning 
down  from  the  spikes  of  London  Bridge  side  by  side 
with  "  a  quarter  of  Sir  Harry  Percy."  *  In  April  of  the 
same  year  he  was  sent  to  Montreuil  with  Sir  Guichard 
d' Angle  and  Sir  Richard  Stury,  for  no  less  a  matter 
than  a  treaty  of  peace  with  France.  The  French  envoys 
proposed  a  marriage  between  their  little  princess  Marie, 
aged  seven,  and  the  future  Richard  II.,  only  three  years 
older;  a  subject  upon  which  the  English  envoys  seem 
to  have  received  no  authority  to  treat.  So  the  embassy 
ended  only  in  a  very  brief  extension  of  the  existing 
truce ;  the  little  princess  died  a  few  months  afterwards, 
and  Chaucer  lived  to  see  the  great  feasts  in  London 
twenty-one  years  later,  when  Richard  took  to  second 
wife  Marie's  niece  Isabella,  then  only  in  her  eighth 
year.  In  January  1378,  our  poet  was  again  associated 
with  Sir  Guichard  d'Angle  and  two  others  on  a  mission 
*  C.  L.  Kingsford,  "  Chronicles  of  London,"  p.  63. 


52  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

to  negotiate  for  Richard's  marriage  with  one  of  poor 
little  Marie's  sisters.  Here  also  the  discussions  came 
to  nothing ;  but  already  in  May  Chaucer  was  sent  with 
Sir  Edward  Berkeley  on  a  fresh  embassy  to  Italy,  This 
time  it  was  to  treat  "of  certain  matters  touching  the 
King's  war"  with  the  great  English  cotidotticre  Sir 
John  Hawkwood,  and  with  that  tyrant  of  Milan  who 
was  suspected  of  having  poisoned  Prince  Lionel,  and 
whose  subsequent  fate  afforded  matter  for  one  of  the 
Monk's  "tragedies"  in  the  "Canterbury  Tales" — 

Of  Milan  greate  Barnabo  Viscount, 

God  of  delight  and  scourge  of  Lombardye. 

During  this  journey  Chaucer  appointed  for  his  agents 
in  England  the  poet  John  Gower  and  another  friend, 
Richard  Forrester,  of  whom  we  shall  hear  once  more. 
He  was  home  again  early  in  February  of  the  next  year ; 
and  this,  so  far  as  we  know,  was  the  last  of  his  diplo- 
matic missions. 

It  would  take  us  too  far  afield  to  consider  all  the 
attendant  circumstances  of  these  later  embassies,  im- 
portant as  they  are  for  showing  the  high  estimate  put 
on  Chaucer's  business  talents,  and  much  as  they  must 
have  contributed  to  form  that  many-sided  genius  which 
we  find  fully  matured  at  last  in  the  poet  of  the  "Canter- 
bury Tales."  But  they  show  us  that  he  travelled  in  the 
best  of  company  and  saw  many  of  the  most  remarkable 
I'^uropean  cities  of  his  day;  that  he  grappled,  and 
watched  others  grapple,  first  with  the  astute  old  coun- 
sellors who  surrounded  Charles  the  Wise,  and  again 
with  the  English  adventurer  whose  prowess  was  a 
household  word  throughout  Italy,  and  who  had  married 
an  illegitimate  sister  of  Clarence's  Violantc  Visconti, 
with  a  dowry  of  a  million  florins.  These  journeys, 
iiowever,  brought  him  no  literary  models  comparable 
to  those  which  he  had  already  found  :  Dante,  Petrarch, 
and  Boccaccio  reigned  supreme  in  his  mind  until  the 
latest  and  ripest  days  of  all,  when  he  became  no  longer 


THE   MAN   OF   BUSINESS  53 

the  mere  translator  and  adapter  (with  however  fresh  a 
genius)  of  French  and  Italian  classics,  but  a  classic 
himself,  master  of  a  style  that  could  express  all  the 
accumulated  observations  of  half  a  century — Chaucer  of 
the  English  fields  and  highways,  Chaucer  of  English  men 
and  women,  and  no  other  man.  The  analysis  and 
criticism  of  the  works  which  he  produced  in  the  years 
following  the  first  Italian  journey  belongs  to  literary 
history.  It  only  concerns  me  here  to  sum  up  what  the 
literary  critics  have  long  since  pointed  out ;  how  full  a 
field  of  ideas  the  poet  found  in  these  years  of  travel, 
how  busily  he  sucked  at  every  flower,  and  how  rich  a 
store  he  brought  home  for  his  countrymen.  For  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  Chaucer  was  practically  the 
only  channel  between  rough,  strong,  unformed  England 
and  the  greatest  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages.  More- 
over, in  him  she  possessed  the  poet  whom,  if  we  measure 
not  only  by  beauty  of  style  but  by  width  of  range, 
we  must  put  next  to  Dante  himself  He  was  to  five 
generations  of  Englishmen  that  which  Shakespeare  has 
been  to  us  ever  since. 

It  is  delightful  to  take  stock  of  these  fruitful  years 
of  travel  and  observation,  but  more  delightful  still  to 
follow  the  poet  home  and  watch  him  at  work  in  the 
dear  busy  London  of  his  birth.  From  the  time  of  his 
return  from  the  first  Italian  journey  we  find  him  in 
evident  favour  at  court.  On  St.  George's  day,  1374, 
he  received  the  grant  of  a  pitcher  of  wine  daily 
for  life,  "to  be  received  in  the  port  of  London  from 
the  hands  of  the  King's  butler."  Such  grants  were 
common  enough;  but  they  take  us  back  in  imagination 
to  the  still  earlier  times  from  which  the  tradition  had 
come  down.  St.  George's  was  a  day  of  solemn  feasting 
in  the  Round  Tower  of  Windsor ;  Chaucer  would 
naturally  enough  be  there  on  his  daily  services.  Edward, 
the  Pharaoh  at  the  birthday  feast,  lifted  up  his  head 
from  among  his  fellow-servants  by  a  mark  of  special 
favour  for  services  rendered  during  the  past  year.     But 


64  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

the  grant  was  already  in  those  days  more  picturesque 
than  convenient;  we  soon  find  Chaucer  drawing  a 
periodical  money-equivalent  for  the  wine;  and  in  1378 
the  grant  was  commuted  for  a  life-pension  of  about  ^200 
modern  value. 

Shortly  after  this  grant  of  wine  came  a  far  greater 
stroke  of  fortune.  Chaucer  was  made  Comptroller  of 
the  Customs  and  Subsidies,  wdth  the  obligation  of 
regular  attendance  at  his  office  in  the  Port  of  London, 
and  of  writing  the  rolls  with  his  own  hand.  Those 
which  still  exist,  however,  are  almost  certainl}^  copies. 
Presently  he  received  the  grant  of  a  life-pension  from 
John  of  Gaunt  as  well  as  from  the  King.  His  wife  also 
had  pensions  from  both,  so  that  the  regular  income  of 
the  household  amounted  to  some  ^1000  a  year  of  modern 
money.  To  this  must  be  added  considerable  windfalls 
in  the  shape  of  two  lucrative  wardships  and  a  large 
share  of  a  smuggled  -cargo  of  wool  which  Chaucer  had 
discovered  and  officially  confiscated.  Yet  with  all  this 
he  seems  to  have  lived  beyond  his  means,  and  we  find 
him  forestalling  his  pension.  In  1382  Chaucer's  finan- 
cial prosperity  reached  its  climax,  for  he  received 
another  comptrollership  which  he  might  exercise  by 
deputy.  Two  years  later,  he  was  permitted  to  appoint 
a  deputy  to  his  first  comptrollership  also  ;  and  in  this 
same  year,  1386,  he  was  elected  to  sit  in  Parliament  as 
Knight  of  the  Shire  for  the  count}-  of  Kent.  He  had 
already,  in  1385,  been  appointed  a  justice  of  the  peace 
for  the  same  county,  in  company  vvitli  Sir  Simon  Burley, 
warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  and  other  distinguished 
colleagues.  Indeed,  only  one  untoward  event  mars  the 
smooth  prosperity  of  tliese  years.  In  1380,  Cecilia 
Chaumpaigne  renounced  by  a  formal  deed,  witnessed 
among  others  by  three  knights,  all  claims  which  she 
might  have  against  our  poet  '' dc  raptn  nico.'"  Raptits 
often  means  simply  abdiictioti,  and  it  may  well  be  that 
Chaucer  was  simply  concerned  in  just  such  an  attempt 
upon  Cecilia  as  had  been   made  upon  his  own  father, 


THE   MAN  OF    BUSINESS  65 

who,  as  it  will  be  remembered,  had  narrowly  escaped 
being  married  by  force  to  Joan  de  Westhale  for  the 
gratification  of  other  people's  private  interests.  This  is 
rendered  all  the  more  probable  by  two  other  documents 
connected  with  the  same  matter  which  have  been  dis- 
covered by  Dr.  Sharpe.*  It  is,  however,  possible  that 
the  raptus  was  a  more  serious  affair;  and  Professor 
Skeat  has  pointed  out  the  coincidence  that  Chaucer's 
"little  son  Lowis"  was  just  ten  years  old  in  1391.  It  is 
true  that  the  poet  would,  by  this  interpretation,  have  been 
guilty  of  felony,  in  which  case  a  mere  deed  of  renuncia- 
tion on  Cecilia's  part  could  not  legally  have  settled  the 
matter ;  but  the  wide  divergences  between  legal  theory 
and  practice  in  the  Middle  Ages  renders  this  argument 
less  conclusive  than  it  might  seem  at  first  sight.  It  is 
certain,  however,  that  abductions  of  heiresses  from 
motives  of  cupidity  were  so  frequent  at  this  time  as  to 
be  recognized  among  the  crying  evils  of  society.  The 
Parliament  of  1385-6  felt  bound  to  pass  a  law  exacting 
that  both  the  abductor  and  the  woman  who  consented 
to  abduction  should  be  deprived  of  all  inheritance 
and  dowry,  which  should  pass  on  to  the  next  of  kin.f 
But  medieval  laws,  as  has  long  ago  been  remarked, 
were  rather  pious  aspirations  than  strict  rules  of  con- 
duct; and  it  is  piquant  to  find  our  errant  poet  himself 
among  the  commissioners  appointed  to  inquire  into  a 
case  oi  raptus,  just  seven  years  after  his  own  escapade.^ 
During  the  twelve  years  from  1374  to  1386  Chaucer 

*  Chaucer  Soc,  "  Life  Records,"  iv.,  p.  xxx. 

t  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  357  ;  Statutes  of  Parliament,  Ric.  II.,  an.  6,  c.  6. 
The  preamble  complains  that  such  "  malefactors  and  raptors  of  women 
grow  more  violent,  and  are  in  these  days  more  rife  than  ever  in  almost 
every  part  of  the  kingdom,"  and  it  implies  that  married  women  were 
sometimes  so  carried  off.  Cf.  Jusserand,  "Vie  Nomade,"  p.  85,  and 
"  Piers  Plowman,"  B.  iv.,  47 — 

"  Then  came  Peace  into  Parliament,  and  put  forth  a  bill, 
How  wrong  against  his  will  had  his  wife  taken, 
And  how  he  ravished  Rose,  Reginald's  love,"  etc.,  etc. 

J  "  Life  Records,"  iv.,  p.  xxxv. 


56  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

occupied  those  lodgings  over  the  tower  of  Aldgate 
which  are  still  inseparably  connected  with  his  name. 
This  was  probably  by  far  the  happiest  part  of  his  career, 
and  (with  one  exception  presently  to  be  noticed)  the 
most  productive  from  a  literary  point  of  view.  Here 
he  studied  with  an  assiduity  which  would  have  been 
impossible  at  court,  and  which  must  again  have  been 
far  less  possible  in  his  later  years  of  want  and  sordid 
shifts.  Here  he  translated  Boethius,  of  whose  philo- 
sophical "Consolations"  he  was  so  soon  to  stand  in 
bitter  need.  Here  he  wrote  from  French,  Latin,  and 
Itajian  materials  that  "  Troilus  and  Cressida"  which  is 
in  many  ways  the  most  remarkable  of  all  his  works. 
In  1382  he  composed  his  "Parliament  of  Fowls"  in 
honour  of  Richard  II. 's  marriage  with  Anne  of  Bohemia; 
then  came  the  "House  of  Fame"  and  the  "Legend 
of  Good  Women."  These  two  poems,  like  most  of 
Chaucer's  work,  are  unfinished,  and  unequal  even  as  they 
stand.  We  cannot  too  often  remind  ourselves  that  he 
was  no  professional  litterateur,  but  a  courtier,  diplomatist, 
and  man  of  business  whose  genius  impelled  him  to 
incessant  study  and  composition  under  conditions  which, 
in  these  days,  would  be  considered  very  unfavourable 
in  many  respects.  But  his  contemporaries  were  suffi- 
ciently familiar  with  unfinished  works  of  literature. 
Reading  was  then  a  process  almost  as  fitful  and  irregular 
as  writing;  and  in  their  gratitude  for  what  he  told  them, 
few  in  those  days  would  have  been  inclined  to  complain 
of  all  that  Chaucer  "left  half-told."  So  the  poet  freely 
indulged  his  genius  during  these  Aldgate  days,  turning 
and  returning  the  leaves  of  his  French  and  Italian 
legendaries,  and  evoking  such  ghosts  as  he  pleased  to 
live  again  on  earth.  Whom  he  would  he  set  up,  and 
whom  he  would  he  put  down  ;  and  that  is  one  secret 
of  his  freshness  after  all  these  centuries. 

This  period  of  quiet  and  prosperity  culminates,  as 
has  been  said,  in  his  election  to  the  Parliament  of  1386 
as  a  Knight  of  the  Shire  for  Kent.     His  contemporary, 


THE   MAN   OF  BUSINESS  57 

Froissart,  has  left  us  a  picture  of  a  specially  solemn 
parliament  held  in  1337  to  declare  war  against  France, 
"at  the  palace  of  Westminster  ;  and  the  Great  Hall  was 
all  full  of  prelates,  nobles,  and  counsellors  from  the 
cities  and  good  towns  of  England.  And  there  all  men 
were  set  down  on  stools,  that  each  might  see  the  King 
more  at  his  ease.  And  the  said  King  was  seated  like  a 
pontiff,  in  cloth  of  Rouen,  with  a  crown  on  his  head  and 
a  royal  sceptre  in  his  hand.  And  two  degrees  lower 
sat  prelate,  earl,  and  baron ;  and  yet  below  them  were 
more  than  six  hundred  knights.  And  in  the  same  order 
sat  the  men  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  and  the  counsellors 
from  the  cities  and  good  towns  of  the  land.  So  when 
all  were  arrayed  and  seated  in  order,  as  was  just,  then 
silence  was  proclaimed,  and  up  rose  a  clerk  of  England, 
licentiate  of  canon  and  civil  law,  and  excellently  provided 
of  three  tongues,  that  is  to  say  of  Latin,  French,  and 
English  ;  and  he  began  to  speak  with  great  wisdom  ;  for 
sir  Robert  of  Artois  was  at  his  side,  who  had  instructed 
him  two  or  three  days  before  in  all  that  he  should  say." 
Chaucer's  Parliament  sat  more  probably  in  the  Great 
Chapter  House  of  Westminster,  and  certainly  passed 
off  with  less  order  and  unanimity  than  Froissart's  of 
1337,  though  the  main  theme  was  still  that  of  the  French 
War,  into  which  the  nation  had  plunged  so  light- 
heartedly  a  generation  earlier.  In  spite  of  Crecy  and 
Poitiers  and  a  dozen  other  victories  in  pitched  battles, 
our  ships  had  been  destroyed  off  La  Rochelle  in  1372  by 
the  combined  fleets  of  France  and  Castile  ;  since  which 
time  not  only  had  our  commerce  and  our  southern 
seaport  towns  suffered  terribly,  but  more  than  once 
there  had  been  serious  fears  for  the  capital.  In  1377 
and  1380  London  had  been  put  into  a  state  of  defence  ;  * 
and  now,  in  1386,  it  was  known  that  the  French  were 
collecting  enormous  forces  for  invasion.  The  incapacity 
of  their  King  and  his  advisers  did  indeed  deliver  us 
finally  from  this  danger;  but,  when  Chaucer  and  his 
*  Riley,  "  Memorials,"  pp.  410,  445. 


58  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

fellow-members  assembled  on  October  i,  "it 'had  still 
seemed  possible  that  any  morning  might  see  the  French 
fleet  off  Dover,  or  even  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames."  * 
The  militia  of  the  southern  counties  was  still  assembled 
to  defend  the  coast,  while  twenty  thousand  from  the 
Midlands  lay  round  London,  ill-paid,  starving,  and 
beginning  to  prey  on  the  country;  for  Richard  II.  had 
wasted  his  money  on  Court  pleasures  or  favourites. 
The  Commons  refused  to  grant  supplies  until  the  King 
had  dismissed  his  unpopular  ministers  ;  Richard  retired 
in  a  rage  to  Eltham,  and  Parliament  refused  to  transact 
business  until  he  should  return.  In  this  deadlock,  the 
members  deliberately  sought  up  the  records  of  the 
deposition  of  Edward  II.,  and  this  implied  threat  was 
too  significant  for  Richard  to  hold  out  any  longer.  As 
a  contemporary  puts  it,  "  The  King  would  not  come  to 
Parliament,  but  they  sent  for  the  statute  whereby  the 
second  Edward  had  been  judged,  and  under  pain  of  that 
statute  compelled  the  King  to  attend."  f  The  Houses 
then  impeached  and  imprisoned  Suffolk,  one  of  the  two 
unpopular  ministers,  and  put  Richard  himself  under 
tutelage  to  a  Council  of  Reform.  Supplies  having 
been  voted,  the  King  dismissed  his  Parliament  on 
November  28  with  a  plain  warning  that  he  intended 
to  repudiate  his  recent  promises ;  and  he  spent  the  year 
1387  in  armed  preparations. 

Meanwhile,  however,  other  proteges  of  his  had  suffered 
besides  the  great  men  of  whom  all  the  chronicles  tell  us. 
The  Council  of  Reform  had  exacted  from  Richard  a 
commission  for  a  month  "  to  receive  and  dispose  of  all 
crown  revenues,  to  enter  the  royal  castles  and  manors, 
to  remove  officials  and  set  up  others  in  their  stead."  J 
Sir  Harris  Nicolas  shows  from  the  rolls  of  this  Par- 
liament that  the  commission  was  issued  "for  inquiring, 
among   other    alleged    abuses,    into    the    state    of    the 

*  Oman,  "  England,  1 377-1485,"  p.  100. 
t  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.  359. 
X  Ibid.,  360. 


THE   MAN   OF   BUSINESS  59 

Subsidies  and  Customs;  and  as  the  Commissioners  began 
their  duties  by  examining  the  accounts  of  the  officers 
employed  in  the  collection  of  the  revenue,  the  removal 
of  any  of  those  persons  soon  afterwards,  may,  with 
much  probability,  be  attributed  to  that  investigation." 
It  is  not  necessary  to  suppose  that  Chaucer  had  been 
specially  negligent  as  a  man  of  business,  though  it  may 
have  been  so,  and  his  warmest  admirer  would  scarcely 
contend  that  what  we  know  of  the  poet's  character 
points  to  any  special  gifts  of  regularity  or  punctual 
order.  We  know  that  the  men  who  now  governed 
England  made  it  their  avowed  object  to  remove  all 
creatures  of  the  King ;  and  everything  tends  to  show 
that  Chaucer  had  owed  his  offices  to  Court  favour.  At 
this  moment  then,  when  Richard's  patronage  was  a  grave 
disadvantage,  and  when  Chaucer's  other  great  protector, 
John  of  Gaunt,  was  abroad  in  Spain,  flying  a  wild-goose 
chase  for  the  crown  of  Castile — at  such  a  moment  it  was 
almost  inevitable  that  we  should  find  him  among  the 
first  victims  ;  and  already  in  December  both  his  comp- 
trollerships  were  in  other  men's  hands.  Even  in  his 
best  days  he  seems  to  have  lived  up  to  his  income;  and 
this  sudden  reverse  would  very  naturally  drive  him  to 
desperate  shifts.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that 
we  soon  find  him  assigning  his  two  pensions  to  one 
John  Scalby  (May  i,  1388). 

But  before  this  Philippa  Chaucer  had  died.  In  1386 
she  was  at  Lincoln  with  her  patron,  John  of  Gaunt,  and 
a  distinguished  company;  and  there  she  was  admitted 
into  the  Cathedral  fraternity,  together  with  Henry  of 
Derby,  the  future  Henry  IV.*  At  Midsummer,  1387, 
she  received  her  quarter's  pension  as  usual,  but  not  at 

*  That  is,  they  contributed  to  maintain  the  Minster,  and  were 
admitted  to  a  share  of  the  spiritual  benefits  earned  by  "  all  prayers,  fast- 
ings, pilgrimages,  almsdeeds,  and  works  of  mercy"  connected  therewith. 
Edward  III.,  and  at  least  three  of  his  sons,  were  already  of  the  fraternity 
of  Lincoln,  and  Richard  II.,  with  his  queen,  were  admitted  the  year  after 
Philippa  Chaucer. 


60  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

Michaelmas;  and  thenceforward  she  disappears  from  the 
records.  Her  death,  of  course,  still  further  reduced  the 
poet's  already  meagre  income ;  but,  as  Professor  Skeat 
points  out,  we  have  ever}^  indication  that  Chaucer  made 
a  good  literary  use  of  this  period  of  enforced  leisure 
and  straitened  means.  In  the  years  1387  and  1388  he 
probably  wrote  the  greater  part  of  the  "  Canterbury 
Tales." 

Next  year  came  a  pleasant  change  of  fortune.  The 
King,  after  a  vain  attempt  to  reassert  himself  by  force 
of  arms,  had  been  obliged  to  sacrifice  many  of  his 
trustiest  servants;  and  the  "Merciless  Parliament"  of 
1388  executed,  among  other  distinguished  victims, 
Chaucer's  old  colleagues  Sir  Nicholas  Brembre  and 
Sir  Simon  Burley.  Richard,  with  rage  in  his  heart, 
bided  his  time,  and  gave  plenty  of  rope  to  the  lords 
who  had  reduced  him  to  tutelage  and  impeached  his 
ministers.  Then,  when  their  essential  factiousness  and 
self-seeking  had  become  manifest  to  the  world,  he  struck 
his  blow.  In  May,  1389,  "he  suddenly  entered  the 
privy  council,  took  his  seat  among  the  expectant  Lords, 
and  asked,  'What  age  am  I?'  They  answered  that  he 
had  now  fulfilled  twenty  years.  '  Then,'  said  he,  '  I  am 
of  full  age  to  govern  my  house,  my  servants,  and  my 
realm  .  .  .  for  every  heir  of  my  realm  who  has  lost  his 
father,  when  he  reaches  the  twentieth  year  of  his  age,  is 
permitted  to  manage  his  own  affairs  as  he  will.' "  He 
at  once  dismissed  the  Chancellor  and  Treasurer,  and 
presently  recalled  John  of  Gaunt  from  Spain  as  a 
counterpoise  to  John's  factious  younger  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester. 

With  one  patron  thus  returned  to  power,  and  another 
on  his  way,  it  was  natural  that  Chaucer's  luck  should 
turn.  Two  montlis  after  this  scene  in  Council  he  was 
appointed  by  Ricliard  11.  "Clerk  of  our  Works  at  our 
Palace  of  Westminster,  our  Tower  of  London,  our 
Castle  of  Berkhampstead,  our  Manors  of  Kennington, 
Eltham,  Clarendon,   Shene,   Byfieet,   Chiltern    Langley, 


THE   MAN   OF  BUSINESS  61 

and  Feckenham,  our  Lodges  at  Hathebergh  in  our  New 
Forest,  and  in  our  other  parks,  and  our  Mews  for  falcons 
at  Charing  Cross ;  likewise  of  our  gardens,  fish-ponds, 
mills  and  park  enclosures  pertaining  to  the  said  Palace, 
Tower,  Castles,  Manors,  Lodges,  and  Mews,  with 
powers  (by  self  or  deputy)  to  choose  and  take  masons, 
carpenters  and  all  and  sundry  other  workmen  and 
labourers  who  are  needed  for  our  works,  wheresoever 
they  can  be  found,  within  or  without  all  liberties 
(Church  fee  alone  excepted);  and  to  set  the  same  to 
labour  at  the  said  works,  at  our  wages."  Our  poet  had 
also  plenary  powers  to  impress  building  materials  and 
cartage  at  the  King's  prices,  to  put  the  good  and  loyal 
men  of  the  districts  on  their  oath  to  report  any  theft  or 
embezzlement  of  materials,  to  bring  back  runaways, 
and  "to  arrest  and  take  all  whom  he  may  here  find 
refractory  or  rebellious,  and  to  cast  them  into  our 
prisons,  there  to  remain  until  they  shall  have  found 
surety  for  labouring  at  our  Works  according  to  the 
injunctions  given  in  our  name."  That  these  time- 
honoured  clauses  were  no  dead  letter,  is  shown  by  the 
still  surviving  documents  in  which  Chaucer  deputed  to 
Hugh  Swayn  and  three  others  his  duties  of  impressing 
workmen  and  impounding  materials,  by  the  constant 
petitions  of  medieval  Parliaments  against  this  system 
of  "Purveyance"  for  the  King's  necessities,  and  by 
different  earlier  entries  in  the  Letter-Books  of  the  City 
of  London.  Search  was  made  throughout  the  capital 
for  fugitive  workmen ;  they  were  clapped  into  Newgate 
without  further  ceremony  ;  and  one  John  de  Alleford 
seems  to  have  made  a  profitable  business  for  a  short 
while  by  "pretending  to  be  a  purveyor  of  our  Lord  the 
King,  to  take  carpenters  for  the  use  of  the  King  in  order 
to  work  at  the  Castle  of  Windsor."  * 

*  Riley,  "Memorials,"  pp.  271,  285,  321.  The  Masons'  regulations 
given  on  p.  281  of  the  same  book  are  interesting  in  connection  with 
Chaucer's  work;  but  still  more  so  are  the  documents  in  "York  Fabric 
Rolls"  (Surtees  Soc),  pp.  172,  181. 


62  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

We  have  a  curious  inventory  of  the  "dead  stock" 
which  Chaucer  took  over  from  his  predecessors  in  the 
Clerkship,  and  for  which  he  made  himself  responsible ; 
the   list   ranges   from    "one   bronze   image,    two   stone 
images    unpainted,   seven    images   in    the   likeness    of 
Kings "    for    Westminster    Palace,   with    considerable 
fittings  for  the  lists  and  galleries  of  a  tournament,  and 
lOO  stone  cannon  balls   for  the  Tower,  down  to  "one 
broken  cable  .  .  .  one  dilapidated   pitchfork  .  .  .  three 
sieves,  whereof  two   are   crazy."*     For  all  this,  which 
he  was  allowed  to  do  by  deputy,  Chaucer  received  two 
shillings  a  day,  or  something  like  ^^450  a  year  of  modern 
mone}'.!     Further  commissions  of  the  same  kind  were 
granted  to  him  :   the  supervision   of  the  works  at  St. 
George's  Chapel,  Windsor,  which  was  "threatened  with 
ruin,  and  on   the  point  of  falling  to  the  ground;"  and 
again  of  a  great   scaffold   in   Smithfield   for  the   Royal 
party  on  the  occasion  of  the  tournament  in  May,  1390. 
Two   months   earlier   in    this   same   year  he  had   been 
associated  with  his   old   colleague   Sir   Richard   Stury 
and  others  on  a  commission  to  repair  the  dykes  and 
drains  of  Thames  from  Greenwich  to  Woolwich,  which 
were   "so    broken  and   ruined    that   manifold    and   in- 
estimable damages   have  happened  in  times    past,  and 
more  are  feared   for  the  future."     A  marginal  note  on 
a   MS.  of  his  "  Envoy  to   Scogan,"  written  some  three 
years   later,   states   that   the   poet   was   then    living   at 
Greenwich;    and  a  casual  remark  in  the  "Canterbury 
Tales"  very   probably  points   in    the   same   direction. t 
Either  in   1390  or   1391   a   Geoffrey  Chaucer,  who  was 
probably  the   poet,  was   appointed    Forester  of  North 
Petherton  Park  in  Somerset. 

But  here  again  we  find  one  single  mischance  break- 

•  "  Life  Records,"  iv.  282,  283. 

t  A  wcUto-do  youth  could  be  boarded  at  Oxford  for  2.^-.  a  week, 
and  it  was  reckoned  that  the  whole  expenses  of  a  Doctor  of  Divinity 
could  be  defrayed  for  thrice  that  sum.  or  half  Chaucer's  salary.  (Riley, 
"  Memorials,"  p.  379  ;  Reynerus,  "dc  Antiq.  Benedict,"  pp.  200,  596.) 

I  A.  3907.     "  Lo  Grencwych,  thcr  many  a  shrcwc  is  inne." 


THE   MAN   OF   BUSINESS  63 

ing  the  even  tenour  of  Chaucer's  new-born  prosperity. 
In  September,  1390,  while  on  his  journeys  as  Clerk  of 
the  Works,  he  was  the  victim  of  at  least  two,  and  just 
possibly  three,  highway  robberies  (of  which  two  were 
on  one  day)  at  Westminster,  and  near  "The  Foul  Oak" 
at  Hatcham.  ,  Two  of  the  robbers  were  in  a  position 
to  claim  benefit  of  clergy ;  Thomas  Talbot,  an  Irish- 
man, was  nowhere  to  be  found ;  and  the  fourth,  Richard 
Brerelay,  escaped  for  the  moment  by  turning  King's 
evidence.  He  was,  however,  accused  of  another 
robbery  in  Hertfordshire,  and  attempted  to  save  his 
life  by  charging  Thomas  Talbot's  servant  with  com- 
plicity in  the  crime.  This  time  the  accused  offered 
"wager  of  battle."  Brerelay  was  vanquished  in  the 
duel,  and  strung  up  out  of  hand. 

It  is  difficult  to  resist  the  conviction  that  Chaucer 
was  by  this  time  recognized  as  an  unbusiness-like 
person ;  for  the  King  deprived  him  of  his  Clerkship  in 
the  following  June  (1391),  at  a  time  when  we  can  find 
nothing  in  the  political  situation  to  account  for  the 
dismissal. 


CHAPTER    VI 

LAST   DAYS 

"  I  strove  with  none,  for  none  was  worth  my  strife  : 
Nature  I  loved,  and,  next  to  Nature,  Art. 
I  warmed  both  hands  before  the  fire  of  Hfe  : 
It  sinks  ;  and  I  am  ready  to  depart." 

W.  S.  Landor 

FROM  this  time  forward  Chaucer  seems  to  have  lived 
from  hand  to  mouth.  He  had,  as  will  presently 
be  seen,  a  son,  stepson,  or  foster-son  of  considerable 
wealth  and  position ;  and  no  doubt  he  had  other  good 
friends  too.  We  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  was 
still  working  at  the  "Canterbury  Tales,"  and  receiving 
such  stray  crumbs  from  great  men's  tables  as  remained 
the  main  reward  of  literature  until  modern  times.  In 
1391  (if  we  may  judge  from  the  fact  that  problems  in  the 
book  are  calculated  for  that  year) he  wrote  the  "Treatise 
on  the  Astrolabe"  for  the  instruction  of  his  ten-year- 
old  son  Lewis.*  It  was  most  likely  in  1393  that  he 
wrote  from  Greenwich  the  "  Envoy "  to  his  friend 
Henry  Scogan,  who  was  then  with  the  Court  at 
Windsor,  "  at  the  stream's  head  of  grace."  The  poet 
urges  him  there  to  make  profitable  mention  of  his 
friend,  "forgot  in  solitary  wilderness"  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  same  river;  and  it  is  natural  to  connect  this 

•  "  Little  Lowys  my  son,  I  apcrccive  well  by  certain  evidences  thine 
ability  to  Icarn  sciences  touching  numbers  and  proportions  ;  and  as  well 
consider  I  thy  busy  prayer  in  special  to  learn  the  treatise  of  the  Astrclabie." 
Excusing  himself  for  having  omitted  some  problems  ordinarily  found  in 
such  treatises,  Chaucer  says,  "  Some  of  them  be  too  hard  to  thy  tender 
age  of  X.  year  to  conceive." 


LAST   DAYS  65 

with  the  fact  that,  in  1394,  Richard  granted  Chaucer 
a  fresh  pension  of  ;f  20  a  year  for  life.  But  the  King's 
exchequer  was  constantly  empty,  and  we  have  seen 
that  the  poet's  was  seldom  full;  so  we  need  not  be 
surprised  to  find  him  constantly  applying  for  his 
pension  at  irregular  times  during  the  rest  of  the  reign. 
Twice  he  dunned  his  royal  patron  for  the  paltry  sum 
of  6s.  Sd.  More  significant  still  is  a  record  of  the  Court 
of  Common  Pleas  showing  that  he  was  sued  by 
Isabella  Buckholt  for  the  sum  of  ;^i4  15.  iid.  some  time 
between  April  24  and  May  20,  1398;  the  Sheriff  of 
Middlesex  reported  that  Chaucer  had  no  possessions 
in  his  bailiwick.  On  May  4  the  poet  obtained  letters 
of  protection,  in  which  the  King  alludes  formally  to  the 
"very  many  arduous  and  urgent  affairs"  with  which 
"our  beloved  esquire"  is  entrusted,  and  therefore  takes 
him  with  "  his  men,  lands,  goods,  rents,  and  all  his 
possessions"  under  the  Royal  protection,  and  forbids 
all  pleas  or  arrests  against  him  for  the  next  two  years. 
The  recital  of  these  arduous  and  urgent  affairs  is  no 
doubt  (like  that  of  Chaucer's  lands  and  rents)  a  mere 
legal  form ;  but  the  protection  was  real.  Isabella 
Buckholt  pressed  her  suit,  but  the  Sheriff  returned 
in  October,  1398,  and  June,  1399,  that  the  defendant 
"  could  not  be  found."  Yet  all  this  time  Chaucer  was 
visible  enough,  for  he  was  petitioning  the  King  for 
formal  letters  patent  to  confirm  a  grant  already  made 
by  word  of  mouth  in  the  preceding  December,  of  a 
yearly  butt  of  wine  from  the  Royal  cellars  "  for  God's 
sake,  and  as  a  work  of  charity."  This  grant,  valued  at 
about  £ys  of  modern  money,  was  confirmed  on  October 
i3>  i398>  and  was  the  last  gift  from  Richard  to  Chaucer. 
Before  twelve  months  were  gone,  the  captive  King  had 
ravelled  out  his  weaved-up  follies  before  his  pitiless 
accusers  in  the  Tower  of  London ;  and  on  the  very 
13th  of  October,  year  for  year,  on  which  Chaucer  had 
received  his  butt  of  wine  from  Richard  II.,  a  fresh 
poetical  supplication  brought  him  a  still  greater  favour 


66  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

from  the  next  King.  Henry  IV.  granted  on  his  own 
account  a  pension  of  forty  marks  in  addition  to 
Richard's ;  and  five  days  afterwards  we  find  Chaucer 
pleading  that  he  had  "  accidentally  lost "  the  late  King's 
letters  patent  for  the  pension  and  the  wine,  and  begging 
for  their  renewal  under  Henry's  hand.  The  favour 
was  granted,  and  Chaucer  was  thus  freed  from  any 
uncertainty  which  might  have  attached  to  his  former 
grants  from  a  deposed  King,  even  though  one  of  them 
was  already  recognized  and  renewed  in  Henry's  letters 
of  October  13.* 

"  King  Richard,"  writes  Froissart,  "  had  a  greyhound 
called  Math,  who  always  waited  upon  the  king  and 
would  know  no  man  else;  for  whensoever  the  king  did 
ride,  he  that  kept  the  greyhound  did  let  him  loose,  and 
he  would  straight  run  to  the  king  and  fawn  upon  him 
and  leap  with  his  fore  feet  upon  the  king's  shoulders. 
And  as  the  king  and  the  earl  of  Derby  talked  together 
in  the  court,  the  greyhound,  who  was  wont  to  leap  upon 
the  king,  left  the  king  and  came  to  the  earl  of  Derby, 
duke  of  Lancaster,  and  made  to  him  the  same  friendly 
countenance  and  cheer  as  he  was  wont  to  do  to  the 
king.  The  duke,  who  knew  not  the  greyhound,  de- 
manded of  the  king  what  the  greyhound  would  do. 
'Cousin,'  quoth  the  king,  'it  is  a  great  good  token  to 
you  and  an  evil  sign  to  me.'  '  Sir,  how  know  you  that  ?  ' 
quoth  the  duke.  'I  know  it  well,'  quoth  the  king,  'the 
greyhound    maketh    you    cheer    this    day   as    king    of 

*  "  Life  Records,"  iv.,  Nos.  250,  270,  277.  The  great  significance  of 
this  fact  is  obscured  even  by  such  excellent  authorities  as  Prof.  Skeat, 
Prof.  Hales,  and  Mr.  Pollard,  who  all  follow  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  in 
misinterpreting  the  last  of  these  three  documents.  Chaucer  had  not  lost, 
as  they  represent,  Henry's  own  letters  patent  of  only  five  days  before, 
but  Richard's  patents  for  the  yearly  ^20  and  the  tun  of  wine.  It  is 
quite  possible  that  Chaucer  may  have  been  obliged  to  leave  them  in 
pledge  somewhere,  or  that  they  were  momentarily  mislaid  ;  but  it  is 
natural  to  suspect  that  the  poet  would  not  so  lightly  have  reported  them 
as  lost  unless  it  had  been  to  his  obvious  interest  to  do  so.  We  must 
remember  the  trouble  and  expense  constantly  taken  by  public  bodies,  for 
instance,  to  get  theif  charters  ratified  by  a  new  king. 


LAST  DAYS  67 

England,  as  ye  shall  be,  and  I  shall  be  deposed.  The 
greyhound  hath  this  knowledge  naturally ;  therefore 
take  him  to  you ;  he  will  follow  you  and  forsake  me.' 
The  duke  understood  well  those  words  and  cherished 
the  greyhound,  who  would  never  after  follow  king 
Richard,  but  followed  the  duke  of  Lancaster  :  [and  more 
than  thirty  thousand  men  saw  and  knew  this."*]  The 
fickle  hound  did  but  foreshadow  the  bearing  of  Richard's 
dependents  in  general.  The  poem  in  which  Chaucer 
hastened  to  salute  the  new  King  of  a  few  days  breathed 
no  word  of  pity  for  his  fallen  predecessor,  but  hailed 
Henry  as  the  saviour  of  England,  "  conqueror  of  Albion," 
"very  king  by  lineage  and  free  election."  f  In  the 
months  that  followed,  while  Chaucer  enjoyed  his  wine 
and  his  pension,  the  King  who  first  gave  them  was 
starving  himself,  or  being  starved  by  his  gaolers,  at 
Pontefract.  It  must  of  course  be  remembered  that, 
while  Richard  was  felt  on  all  hands  to  have  thrown  his 
splendid  chances  wantonly  away,  Henry  was  the  son  of 
Chaucer's  best  patron  ;  and  indeed  the  poet  had  recently 
been  in  close  relations  with  the  future  King,  if  not 
actually  in  his  service.  |  Still,  we  know  that  few  were 
willing  to  suffer  in  those  days  for  untimely  faith  to  a 
fallen  sovereign,  and  we  ourselves  have  less  reason  to 
blame  the  many,  than  to  thank  the  luckier  stars  under 
which  such  trials  of  loyalty  are  spared  to  our  generation. 
Chaucer's  contemporary  and  fellow-courtier,  Froissart, 
might  indeed  write  bitterly  in  his  old  age  about  a  people 
which  could  change  its  ruler  like  an  old  glove ;  but 
Froissart  was  at  ease  in  his  fat  canonry  of  Chimay ;  while 
Chaucer,  with  a  hundred  poets  before  and  since,  had 
chirped  like  a  cricket  all  through  the  summer,  and  was 
now  face  to  face  with  cold  and  starvation  in  the  winter 
of  his  life. 

*  Globe  ed.,  p.  464  ;  Buchon,  iii.,  349. 
t  "  Complaint  to  his  Purse,"  last  stanza. 

t  "  Life  Records,"  iv.,  p.  xlv.     In  1395  or  1396  Chaucer  received  ^10 
from  the  clerk  of  Henry's  great  wardrobe,  to  be  paid  into  Henry's  hands. 


68  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

His  own  last  poems  invite  us  to  pause  here  a  moment ; 
for  they  smack  of  old  age,  infirmities,  and  disillusions. 
When  he  writes  now  of  love,  it  is  in  the  tone  of  Wamba 
the  Witless  :  "  Wait  till  you  come  to  forty  year  !  "  There 
is  the  half-ironical  ballad  to  Rosamond,  a  3'oung  beauty 
whom  he  must  be  content  to  admire  now  from  afar,  yet 
upon  whom  he  dotes  even  so — . 

Was  never  pike  wallowed  in  galantine 
As  I  in  love  am  wallowed  and  y-bound. 

Or  again  the  triple  roundel  to  Merciless  Beauty,  most 
uncomplimentary  in  the  outspoken  triumph-note  of  its 
close — 

Since  I  from  Love  escaped  am  so  fat, 

I  never  think  to  be  in  his  prison  lean  ; 

Since  I  am  free,  I  count  him  not  a  bean. 

He  may  answer,  and  saye  this  or  that ; 

I  do  no  force,  I  speak  right  as  I  mean  [I  care  no  whit 

Since  I  from  Love  escaped  am  so  fat ^ 

I  never  think  to  be  in  his  prison  lean. 

Love  hath  my  name  y-struck  out  of  his  slate, 

And  he  is  struck  out  my  bookes  clean 

For  evermore  ;  there  is  none  other  mean. 

Since  Ifrojn  Love  escaped  am  so  fat, 

I  never  think  to  be  in  his  prison  lean; 

Since  I  am  free,  I  contit  him  not  a  bean  ! 

Then  we  have  "The  Former  Age" — a  sigh  for  the 
Golden  Past,  and  a  tear  for  the  ungrateful  Present — 

Alas,  alas  !  now  may  men  weep  and  cry  ! 
For  in  our  days  is  nought  but  covetise 
And  doubleness,  and  treason,  and  envy, 

Prison,  manslaughter,  and  murder  in  sundry  wise.* 

Then  again  a  scries  of  four  ballads  on  Fortune,  beginning 
"This  wretched  worldes  transmutacioun " ;  a  "Com- 
plaint of  Venus";  the  two  begging  epistles  to  Scogan 
and  Henry  IV. ;  a  satire  against  marriage  addressed  to 
his  friend  Bukton ;  a  piteous  complaint  entitled  "Lack 

•  Though  the  subject-matter  of  this  poem  is  mainly  taken  from 
Bocthius,  yet  it  evidently  has  the  translator's  hearty  approval,  and  is  in 
tune  with  many  more  of  his  later  verses. 


LAST  DAYS  69 

of  Steadfastness,"  and  two  moral  poems  on  Gentilesse 
(true  Gentility)  and  on  Truth.  The  last  of  these  is  not 
only  the  most  truly  poetical  of  them  all,  but  also  the 
bravest  and  most  resigned — 

Flee  from  the  press,  and  dwell  with  Soothfastness  .  .  . 

That  thee  is  sent,  receive  in  buxomness  [obedience 

The  wrestling  for  this  world  asketh  a  fall  [requires,  implies 

Here  is  no  home,  here  is  but  wilderness : 

Forth,  Pilgrim,  forth  !     Forth,  beast,  out  of  thy  stall ! 

Know  thy  countree,  look  up,  thank  God  of  all ; 

Hold  the  high  way,  and  let  thy  ghost  thee  lead, 

And  Truth  shall  thee  deliver,  it  is  no  dread. 

The  bitter  complaints  against  his  own  times  which 
occur  in  these  later  poems  are  of  the  ordinary  medieval 
type ;  the  courage  and  resignation  are  Chaucer's  own, 
and  give  a  strangely  modern  ring  to  his  words.  He 
had  indeed  reached  a  point  of  experience  at  which  all 
centuries  are  drawn  again  into  closer  kinship,  just  as 
early  childhood  is  much  the  same  in  all  countries  and  all 
ages  of  the  world.  There  is  something  in  Chaucer's 
later  writings  that  reminds  us  of  Kenan's  "  pauvre  ame 
develoutee  de  soixante  ans."  All  through  life  this  shy, 
dreamy-eyed,  full-bodied  poet  showed  remarkable  de- 
tachment from  the  history  of  his  own  times.  Professor 
Raleigh  has  pointed  out  that  his  avoidance  of  all  but 
the  slightest  allusions  to  even  the  greatest  of  contempo- 
rary events  may  well  seem  deliberate,  however  much 
allowance  we  may  make  for  the  fact  that  the  landmarks 
of  history  are,  in  their  own  day,  half  overgrown  by  the 
common  weeds  of  daily  life.  But,  for  all  his  detachment 
and  his  shyness  of  autobiographical  allusions,  there  is 
one  unmistakable  contrast  between  his  earliest  and 
latest  poems :  and  we  may  clearly  trace  the  progress 
from  youthful  enthusiasms  to  the  old  man's  disillusions. 
Yet  there  is  no  bitterness  in  Chaucer's  old  age;  we  see 
in  him  what  Ruskin  calls  "a  Tory  of  the  old  school — 
Walter  Scott's  school,  that  is  to  say,  and  Homer's " ; 
loyal  to  monarchy  and  deeply  distrustful  of  democracy, 


70  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

yet  never  doubting  the  King's  ultimate  responsibility  to 
his  people.  We  see  his  resignation  to  the  transitory 
nature  of  earthly  happiness,  even  though  he  cannot  quite 
forgive  life  for  its  disappointments.  His  later  ironies 
on  the  subject  of  love  tell  their  own  tale.  No  man  can 
mistake  them  for  the  jests  of  him  that  never  felt  a 
wound ;  rather,  we  may  see  how  the  old  scars  had  once 
bled  and  sometimes  burned  still,  though  there  was  no 
reason  why  a  man  should  die  of  them.  He  anticipates 
in  effect  Heine's  tragi-comic  appeal,  "  Hate  me,  Ladies,' 
laugh  at  me,  jilt  me,  but  let  me  live!"  For  all  that  we 
have  lost  or  missed,  the  world  is  no  mere  vale  of  tears — 

But,  lord  Christ !  when  that  it  remembreth  me 
Upon  my  youth,  and  on  my  jollity, 
It  tickleth  me  about  mine  hearte-root. 
Unto  this  day  it  doth  mine  hearte  boot 
That  I  have  had  my  world  as  in  my  time  ! 
But  Age,  alas  ! 

well,  even  Age  has  its  consolations — 

The  flour  is  gone,  there  is  no  more  to  tell, 
The  bran,  as  1  best  can,  now  must  I  sell ! 

There  we  have,  in  a  couple  of  lines,  the  philosophy 
of  Chaucer's  later  years — to  take  life  as  we  find  it,  and 
make  the  best  of  it.  If  he  had  cared  to  take  up  the 
full  burden  of  his  time,  there  were  plenty  of  themes  for 
tragedy.  The  world  seemed  to  grow  madder  and 
madder  as  the  14th  century  drew  to  its  close;  Edward 
IIl.'s  sun  had  gone  down  in  disgrace;  his  grandson's 
brilliant  infancy  had  passed  into  a  childish  manhood, 
whose  wayward  extravagances  ended  only  too  naturally 
in  the  tragedy  of  Pontefract;  the  ICmperor  Wenceslas 
was  a  shameless  drunkard,  and  Charles  VI.  of  France  a 
raving  madman;  Pope  Urban  VI.  seemed  half  crazy, 
even  to  his  own  supporters.*     The  Great  Pestilence  and 

*  Michclct,  "  Hist,  de  France,"  Liv.  \'I.,  ad  fin.  A  cardinal  explained 
the  extreme  violence  of  Urban  VI. 's  words  and  actions  by  the  report 
"  that  he  could  not  avoid  one  of  two  things,  lunacy  or  total  collapse  ;  for 


LAST  DAYS  71 

the  Papal  Schism,  the  Jacquerie  in  France,  and  the 
Peasants'  Revolt  in  England,  had  shaken  society  to  its 
foundations ;  but  Chaucer  let  all  these  things  go  by 
with  scarcely  more  than  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

To  the  contemporary  authors  of  Piers  Plowman,  and 
in  a  less  degree  to  John  Gower,  the  world  of  that  time 
was  Vanity  Fair  in  Bunyan's  sense ;  a  place  of  constant 
struggle  and  danger,  in  which  every  honest  pilgrim 
marches  with  his  back  to  the  flames  of  the  City  of 
Destruction,  marks  their  lurid  glare  on  the  faces  of  the 
crowd,  and  sees  the  slightest  gesture  magnified  into 
shadows  that  reach  to  the  very  stars.  To  Chaucer  the 
poet  it  was  rather  Thackeray's  Vanity  Fair :  a  place 
where  the  greatest  problems  of  life  may  be  brought  up 
for  a  moment,  but  can  only  be  dismissed  as  insoluble ; 
where  humanity  is  far  less  interesting  than  the  separate 
human  beings  which  compose  it;  where  we  eat  with 
them,  talk  with  them,  laugh  and  weep  with  them,  yet 
play  with  them  all  the  while  in  our  own  mind ;  so  that, 
when  at  last  it  draws  towards  sunset,  we  have  no  more 
to  say  than  "come,  children,  let  us  shut  up  the  box 
and  the  puppets,  for  the  play  is  played  out."  But 
behind  and  beneath  Chaucer  the  poet  was  Chaucer  the 
man,  whose  last  cry  is  recorded  at  the  end  of  the 
"Canterbury  Tales."  Everything  points  to  a  failure  of 
his  health  for  some  months  at  any  rate  before  his  death. 
The  monks  of  Westminster  were  no  doubt  often  at  his 
bedside ;  and,  though  he  had  evidently  drifted  some  way 
from  his  early  creed,  we  must  beware  of  exaggerations 
on  this  point*  Moreover,  even  if  his  unorthodoxy  had 
been  far  greater  than  we  have  any  reason  to  believe,  it 
needed  a  temper  very  different  from  Chaucer's  to  with- 
stand, under  medieval  conditions,  the  terrors  of  the 
Unknown    and  the  constant  visitations   of  the   clergy, 

he  never  ceased  drinking,  yet  ate  nothing."  Baluze,  "Vit.  Pap.  Aven.," 
vol.  i.,  col.  1270.  Compare  Walsirgham's  tone  with  regard  to  the  Pope, 
"Hist.  Angl.,"  an.  1385. 

*  Chaucer's  religious  belief  will  be  more  fully  discussed  in  Chapter 
XXIV. 


72  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

Indeed,  it  seems  superfluous  to  offer  any  explanation 
or  apology  for  a  document  which  is,  on  its  face,  as  true 
a  cry  of  the  heart  as  the  dying  man's  instinctive  call  for 
his  mother.  "I  beseech  you  meekly  of  God"  (so  runs 
the  epilogue  to  the  "  Parson's  Tale  ")  "  that  ye  pray  for 
me  that  Christ  have  mercy  on  me  and  forgive  me  my 
guilts— and  namely  [especially]  of  my  translations  and 
enditings  of  worldly  vanities.  .  .  .  And  many  a  song  and 
many  a  lecherous  lay,  that  Christ  for  His  great  mercy 
forgive  me  the  sin  .  .  .  and  grant  me  grace  of  very 
penitence,  confession  and  satisfaction  to  do  in  this 
present  life,  through  the  benign  grace  of  Him  that  is 
King  of  Kings  and  Priest  over  all  Priests,  that  bought 
us  with  the  precious  blood  of  His  heart ;  so  that  I  may 
be  one  of  them  at  the  day  of  doom  that  shall  be  saved." 
But  we  are  anticipating.  The  generosity  of  Henry 
IV.,  as  we  have  seen,  had  brought  Chaucer  once  again 
into  easy  circumstances,  and  within  a  few  weeks  we  find 
him  leasing  from  the  Westminster  Abbey  "a  tenement, 
with  its  appurtenances,  situate  in  the  garden  of  St. 
Mary's  Chapel,"  i.e.  somewhere  on  the  site  of  the  present 
Henry  VII. 's  chapel,  sheltered  by  the  south-eastern  walls 
of  the  Abbey  church,  and  "nigh  to  the  White  Rose 
Tavern  " ;  for  in  those  days  the  Westminster  precincts 
contained  houses  of  the  most  miscellaneous  description, 
which  all  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  sanctuary.  Near  this 
spot,  in  1262,  Henry  HI.  had  ordered  pear  trees  to  be 
planted  "  in  the  herbary  between  the  King's  Chamber 
and  the  Church."*  "He  that  plants  pears,  plants  for 
his  heirs,"  says  the  old  proverb;  and  it  is  pleasant  to 
believe  that  Chaucer  enjoyed  at  least  the  blossom  of 
this  ancient  orchard,  if  not  its  fruit.  He  took  the  house 
at  a  rent  of  four  marks  for  as  many  of  the  next  fifty- 
three  years  as  his  life  might  last ;  but  he  was  not  fated 
to  enjoy  it  for  so  many  weeks.  In  February,  1400,  he 
drew  an  instalment  of  one  of  his  pensions  ;  in  June 
another  instalment  was   paid  througli  the  hands  of  one 

*  W.  R.  Lclhaby,  "  Wcblininstcr  Abbey,"  1906,  p.  2. 


\\  !■  -  1  \IIN-  I  l-.K     Al;i;l^^,     \<    -I.KN     ikuM      llll-.    WIMjuU--    n\     (    IIAICI-.K 


mi:     111-    .11    SI. 


HA  111  ) 


LAST  DAYS  73 

William  Somere;  and  then  the  Royal  accounts  record 
no  more.  He  died  on  October  25,  according  to  the 
inscription  on  his  tomb,  the  first  literary  monument  in 
that  part  of  the  Abbey  which  has  since  received  the 
name  of  Poet's  Corner.*  It  is  probable  that  we  owe 
this  fortunate  circumstance  still  more  to  the  fact  that 
Chaucer  was  an  Abbey  tenant  than  to  his  distinction  as 
courtier  or  poet.  When  Gower  died,  eight  years  later, 
his  body  was  laid  just  as  naturally  among  the  Austin 
Canons  of  Southwark  with  whom  he  had  spent  his  last 
years. 

The  industry  of  Mr.  Edward  Scott  has  discovered 
that  this  same  house  in  St.  Mary's  Chapel  garden  was 
let,  from  at  least  1423  until  his  death  in  1434,  to  Thomas 
Chaucer,  who  was  probably  the  poet's  son.  This 
Thomas  was  a  man  of  considerable  wealth  and  position. 
He  began  as  a  protege  of  John  of  Gaunt,  and  became 
Chief  Butler  to  Richard  H.,  Henry  IV.,  and  Henry  V.  in 
succession;  Constable  of  Wallingford  Castle,  and  M.P. 
for  Oxfordshire  in  nine  parliaments  between  1402  and 
1429.  He  was  many  times  Speaker,  a  commissioner  for 
the  marriage  of  Henry  V.,  and  an  Ambassador  to  treat 
for  peace  with  France;  fought  at  Agincourt  with  a 
retinue  of  twelve  men-at-arms  and  thirty-seven  archers  ; 
became  a  member  of  the  King's  Council,  and  died  a 
very  rich  man.  His  only  daughter  made  two  very  dis- 
tinguished marriages  ;  and  her  grandson  was  that  Earl 
of  Lincoln  whom  Richard  III.  declared  his  heir-apparent. 
For  a  while  it  seemed  likely  that  Geoffrey  Chaucer's 
descendants  would  sit  on  the  throne  of  England,  but  the 
Earl  died  in  fight  against  Henry  VII.  at  Stoke.  Of  the 
poet's   "  little  son  Lewis  "  we  hear  no  more  after  that 

*  Stow  (Routledge,  1893,  p.  414)  seems  to  imply  that  the  poet  was 
first  buried  in  the  cloister,  but  this  is  an  obvious  error.  Dr.  Furnivall 
has  pointed  out  a  Hne  of  Hoccleve's  which  certainly  seems  to  imply  that 
the  younger  poet  was  present  at  his  master  Chaucer's  death-bed.  We 
may  also  gather  from  Hoccleve's  account  of  his  own  youth  many  glimpses 
which  tend  to  throw  interesting  sidelights  on  that  of  Chaucer  (Hoccleve's 
Works,  E.E.T.S.,  vol.  i.,  pp.  xii.,  xxxi.). 


74  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

brief  glimpse  of  his  boyhood ;  and  Elizabeth  Chaucy, 
the  only  other  person  whom  we  can  with  any  proba- 
bility claim  as  Chaucer's  child,  was  entered  as  a  nun  at 
Barking  in  1381,  John  of  Gaunt  paying  ;^s  i  85.  2d.  for  her 
expenses.  It  is  just  possible,  however,  that  this  may  be 
the  same  Elizabeth  Chausier  who  was  received  as  a  nun 
in  St.  Helen's  priory  four  years  earlier,  at  the  King's 
nomination ;  in  this  case  the  date  would  point  more 
probably  to  the  poet's  sister. 

This  is  not  the  place  for  any  literary  dissertation  on 
Chaucer's  poetry,  which  has  already  been  admirably 
discussed  by  many  modern  critics,  from  Lowell  onwards. 
He  did  more  than  any  other  man  to  fix  the  literary 
English  tongue  :  he  was  the  first  real  master  of  style  in 
our  language,  and  retained  an  undisputed  supremacy 
until  the  Elizabethan  age.  This  he  owes  (as  has  often 
been  pointed  out)  not  only  to  his  natural  genius,  but 
also  to  the  happy  chances  which  gave  him  so  wide 
an  experience  of  society.  Living  in  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  epochs  of  English  history,  he  was  by 
turns  lover,  courtier,  soldier,  man  of  business,  student, 
ambassador.  Justice  of  the  Peace,  Member  of  Parliament, 
Thames  Conservator,  and  perhaps  even  something  of  an 
architect,  if  he  took  his  Clerkship  of  the  Works  seriousl}^ 
All  these  experiences  were  mirrored  in  eyes  as  observant, 
and  treasured  in  as  faithful  a  memory,  as  those  of  any 
other  English  poet  but  one  ;  and  to  these  natural  gifts  of 
the  born  portrait-painter  he  added  the  crowning  quality  of 
a  perfect  style.  \{  his  writings  have  been  hailed  as  a 
"  well  of  English  undefiled,"  it  was  because  he  spoke 
habitually,  and  therefore  wrote  naturally,  the  best 
Englisli  of  his  day,  the  English  of  the  court  and  of  the 
higher  clergy.  In  this  he  was  even  more  fortunate  than 
Dante,  as  he  surpassed  Dante  in  variety  (though  not  in 
intenseness)  of  experience,  and  as  he  knew  one  more 
language  than  he.  When  we  note  with  astonishment 
the  freshness  of  Chaucer's  characters  across  these 
five   centuries,   we    must    always    remember    that    his 


LAST  DAYS  75 

exceptional  experience  and  powers  of  observation  were 
combined  with  an  equally  extraordinary  mastery  of 
expression.  It  is  because  Chaucer's  speech  ranges  with 
absolute  ease  from  the  best  talk  of  the  best  society, 
down  to  the  Miller's  broad  buffoonery  or  the  north- 
country  jargon  of  the  Cambridge  students,  that  his 
characters  seem  to  us  so  modern  in  spite  of  the  social 
and  political  revolutions  which  separate  their  world 
from  ours.  It  will  be  my  aim  to  portray,  in  the  re- 
maining chapters,  the  England  of  that  day  in  those 
features  which  throw  most  light  on  the  peculiarities  of 
Chaucer's  men  and  women. 


CHAPTER  VII 
LONDON  CUSTOM-HOUSE 

"  Forget  six  counties  overhung  with  smoke, 
Forget  the  snorting  steam  and  piston  stroke, 
Forget  the  spreading  of  the  hideous  town  ; 
Think  rather  of  the  pack-horse  on  the  down, 
And  dream  of  London,  small,  and  white,  and  clean, 
The  clear  Thames  bordered  by  its  gardens  green  ; 
Think,  that  below  bridge  the  green  lapping  waves 
Smite  some  few  keels  that  bear  Levantine  staves. 
Cut  from  the  yew  wood  on  the  burnt-up  hill, 
And  pointed  jars  that  Greek  hands  toiled  to  fill. 
And  treasured  scanty  spice  from  some  far  sea, 
Florence  gold  cloth,  and  Ypres  napery. 
And  cloth  of  Bruges,  and  hogsheads  of  Guienne  ; 
While  nigh  the  thronged  wharf  Geoffrey  Chaucer's  pen 

Moves  over  bills  of  lading " 

W.  Morris 

THERE  are  two  episodes  of  Chaucer's  life  which 
belong  even  more  properly  to  Chaucer's  England  ; 
in  which  it  may  not  only  be  said  that  our  interest  is 
concentrated  less  on  the  man  than  on  his  surroundings, 
but  even  that  we  can  scarcely  get  a  glimpse  of  the  man 
except  through  his  surroundings.  These  two  episodes 
are  his  life  in  London,  and  his  Canterbury  Pilgrimage; 
and  with  these  we  may  most  fitly  begin  our  survey  of 
the  world  in  which  he  lived. 

The  most  tranquilly  prosperous  period  of  the  poet's 
life  was  that  space  of  twelve  years,  from  1374  to  1386, 
during  which  he  lived  over  the  tower  of  Aldgate  and 
worked  at  the  Customs  House,  with  occasional  inter- 
ruptions of  foreign  travel  on  the  King's  business.  The 
Tower  of  London,  according  to  popular  belief,  had  its 
foundations  cemented  with  blood ;  and  this  was  only  too 


LONDON  CUSTOM-HOUSE  77 

true  of  Chaucer's  Aldgate.  It  was  a  massive  structure, 
double-gated  and  double-portcuUised,  and  built  in  part 
with  the  stones  of  Jews'  houses  plundered  and  torn 
down  by  the  Barons  who  took  London  in  121 5.  But, 
in  spite  of  similar  incidents  here  and  there,  England 
was  generally  so  free  from  civil  war  that  the  townsfolk 
were  very  commonly  tempted  to  avoid  unnecessary 
outlay  upon  fortifications.  The  traveller  in  Germany 
or  Switzerland  is  often  surprised  to  see  even  villages 
strongly  walled  against  robber  barons  ;  while  we  may 
find  great  and  wealthy  English  towns  like  Lynn  and 
Cambridge  which  had  little  other  defence  than  a  ditch 
and  palisade.*  Even  in  fortified  cities  like  London,  the 
tendency  was  to  neglect  the  walls — at  one  period  we 
find  men  even  pulling  them  gradually  to  pieces  f — and 
to  let  the  towers  or  gates  for  private  lodgings.  As 
early  as  the  last  year  of  Edward  I.,  we  find  Cripplegate 
thus  let  out;  and  such  notices  are  frequent  in  the 
"  Memorials  of  London  Life,"  collected  by  Mr.  Riley 
from  the  City  archives.  J 

Here  Chaucer  had  only  half  a  mile  to  go  to  his  daily 
work,  by  streets  which  we  may  follow  still.  If  he  took 
the  stricter  view,  which  held  that  gentlefolk  ought  to 
begin  their  day  with  a  Mass,  and  to  hear  it  fasting,  then 
he  had  at  least  St.  Michael's,  Aldgate,  and  All  Hallows 
Stonechurch  on  his  direct  way,  and  two  others  within  a 
few  yards  of  his  road.  If,  however,  he  was  of  those 
who  preferred  to  begin  the  day  with  a  sop  of  wine  or 
"a  draught  of  moist  and  corny  ale,"  then  the  noted 
hostelry  of  the  Saracen's  Head   probably  stood   even 

*  This  was  occasionally  the  case  even  in  Normandy  until  the  English 
invasion.  The  great  city  of  Caen,  for  instance,  was  still  unwalled  in 
1346.  ("  Froissart,"  ed.  Buchon,  p.  223.)  A  piece  of  London  Wall  may 
still  be  found  near  the  Tower  at  the  bottom  of  a  small  passage  called 
Trinity  Place,  leading  out  of  Trinity  Square.  It  rises  about  twenty-five 
feet  from  the  present  ground-level. 

t  Riley,  "Memorials,"  p.  79.     This  was  in  1310. 

t  See  pp.  50,  59,  79,  95,  115,  127,  136,  377,  387,  388,  489-  My 
frequent  references  to  this  book  will  be  simply  to  the  name  of  Riley. 


78  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

then,  and  had  stood  since  the  time  of  the  Crusades, 
within  a  few  yards  of  Aldgate  Tower.  Close  by  the 
fork  of  Fenchurch  and  Leadenhall  Streets  he  would 
pass  a  "fair  and  large-built  house,"  the  town  inn  of  the 
Prior  of  Hornchurch.  Then,  in  Fenchurch  Street,  the 
mansion  and  garden  of  the  Earls  of  Northumberland, 
and  again,  at  the  corner  of  Mart  Lane,  the  manor  and 
garden  of  Blanch  Apleton.  Turning  down  Mart  Lane 
(now  corrupted  into  Mark),  the  poet  would  pass  the 
great  chain,  ready  to  be  stretched  at  any  moment  across 
the  narrow  street,  which  marked  the  limits  of  Aldgate 
and  Tower  Street  wards.  He  would  cross  Tower 
Street  a  few  yards  to  the  eastward  of  "  the  quadrant 
called  Galley  Row,  because  galley  men  dwelt  there." 
These  galley  men  were  "divers  strangers,  born  in 
Genoa  and  those  parts,"  whose  settlement  in  London 
had  probably  been  the  object  of  Chaucer's  first  Italian 
mission,  and  who  presently  prospered  sufficiently  to 
fill  not  only  this  quadrant,  but  also  part  of  Minchin 
Lane,  and  to  possess  a  quay  of  their  own.  But,  like 
their  cousins  the  Lombards,  these  Genoese  soon  showed 
themselves  smarter  business  men  even  than  their  hosts. 
They  introduced  unauthorized  halfpence  of  Genoa, 
called  "Galley  halfpence";  and  these,  with  similar 
"suskings"  from  France,  and  "dodkins"  from  the  Low 
Countries,  survived  the  strict  penalties  threatened  by 
two  Acts  of  Parliament,  and  lasted  on  at  least  till  Eliza- 
beth's reign.  "In  my  youth,"  writes  Stow,  "I  have 
seen  them  pass  current,  but  with  some  difficulty,  for  the 
English  halfpence  were  then,  though  not  so  broad, 
somewhat  thicker  and  stronger."  *  Stow  found  a  build- 
ing on  the  quay  which  he  identified  with  their  hall.  "  It 
seemeth  that  the  builders  of  the  hall  of  this  house  were 
shipwrights,  and  not  carpenters;"  for  it  was  clinker- 
built  like  a  boat,  "and  seemeth  as  it  were  a  galley,  the 
keel  turned  upwards."  But  this  building  was  probably 
later   than    Chaucer's   time.      The   galley   quay   almost 

•  Ed.  Morlcy,  pp.  154-157. 


LONDON  CUSTOM-HOUSE  79 

touched  that  of  the  Custom-House ;  and  here  our  poet 
had  abundant  opportunities  of  keeping  up  his  Italian 
while  sampling  the  "wines  of  Crete  and  other  sweet 
wines  in  one  of  the  cellars,  and  red  and  white  wines  in 
the  other  cellar."  *  His  poems  show  an  appreciation  of 
good  vintages,  which  was  no  doubt  partly  hereditary 
and  partly  acquired  on  the  London  quays,  where  he 
could  talk  with  these  Mediterranean  mariners  and 
drink  the  juice  of  their  native  grapes,  remembering  all 
the  while  how  he  had  once  watched  them  ripening 
on  those  southern  slopes — 

How  richly,  down  the  rocky  dell, 
The  torrent  vineyard  streaming  fell 

To  meet  the  sun  and  sunny  waters 
That  only  heaved  with  a  summer  swell !  f 

When  Chaucer  began  his  work  in  1374  there  was  no 
regular  building  for  the  Customs;  the  King  hired  a 
house  for  the  purpose  at  £s  a  year,  and  a  single  boat- 
man watched  in  the  port  to  prevent  smuggling.  In 
1383,  however,  one  John  Churchman  built  a  house, 
which  Richard  II,  undertook  to  hire  for  the  rest  of  the 
builder's  life  ;  this  became  the  first  Custom-House,  and 
lasted  until  Elizabeth's  reign.  The  lease  gives  its 
modest  proportions  exactly :  a  ground  floor,  in  which 
the  King  kept  his  weigh-beams  for  wool  and  other  mer- 
chandise ;  a  "  solar,"  or  upper  chamber,  for  a  counting- 
house;  and  above  this  yet  another  solar,  38  by  21I,  feet, 
partitioned  into  "  two  chambers  and  one  garret,  as  men 
call  it."  For  this  new  house  the  King  paid  the  somewhat 
higher  rent  of  £4.  Chaucer  was  bound  by  the  terms  of 
his  appointment  to  do  the  work  personally,  without  sub- 
stitute, and  to  write  his  "rolls  touching  the  said  office 
with  his  own  hand";  but  it  is  probable  that  he  accepted 
these  terms  with  the  usual  medieval  licence.     He  went 

*  Riley,  p.  270. 

t  From  his  first  Italian  journey  Chaucer  returned  on  May  23,  1373  ; 
but  his  second  was  during  the  summer  and  early  autumn  of  1378.  (May 
28  to  Sept.  19.) 


80  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

abroad  at  least  five  times  on  the  King's  service  during 
his  term  of  office;  and  the  two  original  rolls  which  sur- 
vive are  apparently  not  written  by  his  hand.  His  own 
words  in  the  "  House  of  Fame  "  show  that  he  took  his 
book-keeping  work  at  the  office  seriously ;  but  it  is  not 
likely  that  the  press  of  business  was  such  as  to  keep 
him  alwa3''s  at  the  counting-house ;  and  he  may  well 
have  helped  his  boatman  to  patrol  the  port,  which 
extended  down-river  to  Gravesend  and  Tilbury.  It  is 
at  least  certain  that,  in  1376,  he  caught  John  Kent 
smuggling  a  cargo  of  wool  away  from  London,  and  so 
earned  prize-money  to  the  value  of  ;^iooo  in  modern 
currency.  It  is  certain  also  that  his  daily  work  for 
twelve  years  must  have  kept  him  in  close  daily  contact 
with  sea-faring  folk,  who,  from  Homer's  days  at  least, 
have  always  provided  the  richest  food  for  poetry  and 
romance.  The  commonest  seaman  had  stirring  tales  to 
tell  in  those  days,  when  every  sailor  was  a  potential 
pirate,  and  foreign  crews  dealt  with  each  other  by 
methods  still  more  summary  than  plank- walking.* 
Moreover,  there  was  even  more  truth  than  now  in  the 
proverb  that  "  far  fowls  have  fair  feathers "  ;  and  the 
Genoese  on  Galley  Quay  had  sailed  many  seas  unknown 
even  to  the  tempest-tossed  shipman  of  Dartmouth, 
whose  southern  limit  was  Cape  Finisterre.  They  had 
passed  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  and  seen  the  apes  on  the 
Rock  of  Gibraltar,  and  shuddered  from  afar  at  the  Great 
Whirlpool  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  which  sucked  in  its 
floods  thrice  daily,  and  thrice  belched  them  forth  again  ; 
and  into  which  about  this  time  "four  vessels  of  the 
town  of  Lynn,  steering  too  incautiously,  suddenly  fell, 
and  were  swallowed  up  under  their  comrades'  eyes."  t 

Moreover,  the  very  streets  and  markets  of  London 
then  presented  a  pageant  unquestionably  far  more 
inspiring  to  a  man  of  Chaucer's  temperament  than 
anything  that  can  be  seen  there  to-day.     It  is  easy  to 

*  "  Cant.  Talcs,"  Prol.  i.,  400. 

t  Walsingham,  "Hist.  Angl,,"  an.  1406,  ad  fin. 


LONDON   CUSTOM-HOUSE  81 

exaggerate  the  contrast  between  modern  and  medieval 
London,  if  only  by  leaving  out  of  account  those  subtle 
attractions  which  kept  even  William  Morris  from  tear- 
ing himself  away  from  the  much-abused  town.  It  is 
also  undeniable  that,  however  small  and  white,  Chaucer's 
London  was  not  clean,  even  to  the  outward  eye ;  and 
that  the  exclusive  passion  for  Gothic  buildings  is  to 
some  extent  a  mere  modern  fashion,  as  it  was  the 
fashion  two  hundred  years  ago  to  consider  them  a 
positive  eyesore.  To  some  great  poet  of  the  future, 
modern  London  may  well  supply  a  grander  canvas 
still;  but  to  a  writer  like  Chaucer,  content  to  avoid 
psychological  problems  and  take  men  and  things  as 
they  appear  on  the  surface,  there  was  every  possible, 
inspiration  in  this  busy  capital  of  some  40,000  souls 
where  everybody  could  see  everything  that  went  on, 
and  it  was  almost  possible  to  know  all  one's  fellow- 
citizens  by  sight.  Some  streets,  no  doubt,  were  as 
crowded  as  any  oriental  bazaar  ;  but  most  of  the  buying 
and  selling  went  on  in  open  market,  with  lavish  ex- 
penditure of  words  and  gestures;  while  the  shops  were 
open  booths  in  which  the  passer-by  could  see  master 
and  men  at  their  work,  and  stop  to  chat  with  them  on 
his  way.  In  the  absence  of  catalogues  and  advertise- 
ments, every  man  spread  out  his  gayest  wares  in  the 
sun,  and  commended  them  to  the  public  with  every 
resource  of  mother-wit  or  professional  rhetoric.  Corn- 
hill  and  Cheapside  were  like  the  Mercato  Vecchio  at 
Florence  or  St.  Mark's  Square  at  Venice.  Extremes 
meet  in  modern  London,  and  there  is  theme  enough 
for  poetry  in  the  deeper  contrasts  that  underlie  our 
uniformity  of  architecture  and  dress.  But  in  Chaucer's 
London  the  crowd  was  almost  as  motley  to  man's  eye 
as  to  God's — 

Barons  and  burgesses  and  bondmen  also  .  ,  . 
Baxters  and  brewsters  and  butchers  many, 
Woolwebsters  and  weavers  of  linen, 
Tailors  and  tinkers  and  tollers  in  markets, 


82  CHAUCER  AND  HIS   ENGLAND 

Masons  and  miners  and  many  other  crafts  .  .  • 

Of  all-kind  living  labourers  leapt  forth  some, 

As  dykers  and  delvers  that  do  their  deeds  ill, 

And  drive  forth  the  long  day  with  Dieu  vojis  sauve,  Dame  Emme 

Cooks  and  their  knaves  cried  "  Hot  pies,  hot ! 

Good  griskin  and  geese  !  go  dine,  go  I  " 

Taverners  unto  them  told  the  same  [tale] 

"  White  wine  of  Alsace  and  red  wine  of  Gascoyne, 

Of  the  Rhine  and  of  Rochelle,  the  roast  to  defye  !  "  [digest.* 

The  very  sticks  and  stones  had  an  individuality  no 
less  marked.  The  churches,  parish  and  monastic,  stood 
out  as  conspicuously  as  they  still  stand  in  Norwich, 
and  were  often  used  for  secular  purposes,  despite  the 
prohibitions  of  synods  and  councils.  For  even  London 
had  in  Chaucer's  time  scarcely  any  secular  public 
buildings,  while  at  Norwich,  one  of  the  four  greatest 
towns  in  the  kingdom,  public  meetings  were  sometimes 
held  in  the  Tolhouse,  sometimes  in  the  Chapel  of  St. 
Mary's  College,  in  default  of  a  regular  Guildhall.  The 
city  houses  of  noblemen  and  great  churchmen  were 
numerous  and  often  splendid,  and  Besant  rightly  em- 
phasizes this  feudal  aspect  of  the  city ;  but  he  seems 
in  his  enumeration  of  the  lords'  retainers  to  allow  too 
little  for  medieval  licence  in  dealing  with  figures;  and 
certainly  he  has  exaggerated  their  architectural  magni- 
ficence beyond  all  reason. f  But  at  least  the  ordinary 
citizens'  and  artisans'  dwellings  presented  the  most 
picturesque  variety.  Here  and  there  a  stone  house, 
rare  enough  to  earn  special  mention  in  official  docu- 
ments;  but  most  of  the  dwellings  were  of  timber  and 
plaster,  in  front  and  behind,  with  only  side-gables  of 
masonry  for  some  sort  of  security  against  the  spreading 

*  "P.  Plowman,"  B.  Prol.,  216.  The  French  words  in  italics  were 
the  first  line  of  a  popular  song.  Gowcr  has  an  equally  picturesque 
description  in  his  "  Mirour  dc  rOmmc,"  25,285  ff. 

t  "  London  was,  in  very  truth,  a  city  of  Palaces.  There  were,  in 
London  itself,  more  palaces  than  in  Venice  and  Plorence  and  Verona 
and  Genoa  all  together."  "  Medieval  London,"  i.,  244,  where  the  context 
shows  that  the  author  refers  not  only  to  royal  residences,  but  still  more 
to  noblemen's  houses. 


THE   TOWER,   WITH    LONDON    T.RIDGE    IN   THE    I'.ACKOROUNl) 

(kKO.M  MS.   KOY.    l6  K.   ii.  f.   73;    A  LATE   I5rH  Ci-NTURV  MS.   OF    IHK  lOEMS  uF  CllAHLES  d'uKLFANS 


LONDON  CUSTOM-HOUSE  83 

of  fires.*  The  ground  floor  was  generally  open  to  the 
street,  and  formed  the  shop;  then,  some  eight  or  ten 
feet  above  the  pavement,  came  the  "  solar  "  or  "  soller  " 
on  its  projecting  brackets,  and  sometimes  (as  in  the 
Custom  House)  a  third  storey  also.  Outside  stairs 
seem  to  have  been  common,  and  sometimes  penthouses 
on  pillars  or  cellar  steps  further  broke  the  monotony 
of  the  street,  though  frequent  enactments  strove  to 
regulate  these  in  the  public  interest.  Of  comfort  or 
privacy  in  the  modern  sense  these  houses  had  little  to 
offer.  The  living  rooms  were  frequently  limited  to 
hall  and  bower  {i.e.  bedroom) ;  only  the  better  sort  had 
two  chambers ;  glass  was  rare ;  in  Paris,  which  was 
at  least  as  well-built  as  London,  a  well-to-do  citizen 
might  well  have  windows  of  oiled  linen  for  his  bedroom, 
and  even  in  1575  a  good-sized  house  at  Sheffield  con- 
tained only  sixteen  feet  of  glass  altogether.f  Mean- 
while the  wooden  shutters  which  did  duty  for  casements 
were  naturally  full  of  chinks ;  and  the  inhabitants  were 
exposed  during  dark  nights  not  only  to  the  nuisance 
and  danger  of  "common  listeners  at  the  eaves,"  against 
whom  medieval  town  legislation  is  deservedly  severe, 
but  also  to  the  far  greater  chances  of  burglary  afforded 
by  the  frailty  of  their  habitations.  It  is  not  infrequently 
recorded  in  medieval  inquests  that  the  housebreaker 
found  his  line  of  least  resistance  not  through  a  window 
or  a  door,  but  through  the  wall  itself:}:     Moreover,  in 

*  This  was  at  least  the  theoretical  provision  of  the  regulation  of  11 89, 
known  as  Fitz  Alwyne's  Assize,  which  is  fully  summarized  and  annotated 
in  the  "Liber  Albus,"  ed.  Riley  (R.S.),  pp.  xxx.  ff.  We  know,  however, 
that  similar  decrees  against  roofs  of  thatch  or  wooden  shingles  were  not 
always  obeyed. 

t  "  Menagierde  Paris,"  i.,  173  ;  Addy,  "Evolution  of  English  House," 
p.  108  ;  of.  "Piers  Plowman's  Creed,"  i.,  214. 

X  An  earthen  wall  is  mentioned  in  Riley,  p.  30.  The  slight  structure 
of  the  ordinary  house  appears  from  the  fact  that  the  rioters  of  138 1  tore 
so  many  down,  and  that  the  great  storm  of  1362  unroofed  them  whole- 
sale. (Walsingham,  an.  1381,  and  Riley,  p.  308.)  Compare  the  hook 
with  wooden  handle  and  two  ropes  which  was  kept  in  each  ward  for  the 
pulling  down  of  burning  houses.     ("  Liber  Albus,"  p.  xxxiv.) 


84  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

those  unlighted  streets,  much  that  was  most  picturesque 
by  day  was  most  dangerous  at  night,  from  the  project- 
ing staircases  and  penthouses  down  to  doorways 
unlawfully  opened  after  curfew,  wherein  "aspyers" 
might  lurk,  "waiting  men  for  to  beaten  or  to  slayen." 
These  and  many  similar  considerations  will  serve  to 
explain  why  night-walking  was  treated  in  medieval 
towns  as  an  offence  presumptively  no  less  criminal 
than,  in  our  days,  the  illegal  possession  of  dynamite. 
The  isth-century  statutes  of  Oxford  condemn  the 
nocturnal  wanderer  to  a  fine  double  that  which  he 
would  have  incurred  by  shooting  at  a  proctor  and  his 
attendants  with  intent  to  injure.* 

But  to  return  to  the  inside  of  the  houses.  The  con- 
tract for  a  well-to-do  citizen's  dwelling  of  1308  has  been 
preserved,  by  a  fortunate  chance,  in  one  of  the  city 
Letter-books.  "  Simon  de  Canterbury,  carpenter,  came 
before  the  Mayor  and  Aldermen  .  .  .  and  acknowledged 
that  he  would  make  at  his  own  proper  charges,  down 
to  the  locks,  for  William  de  Hanigtone,  skinner,  before 
the  Feast  of  Easter  then  next  ensuing,  a  hall  and  a  room 
with  a  chimney,  and  one  larder  between  the  said  hall 
and  room;  and  one  solar  over  the  room  and  larder; 
also,  one  oriel  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  beyond  the  high 
bench,  and  one  step  with  a  porch  from  the  ground  to 
the  door  of  the  hall  aforesaid,  outside  of  that  hall;  and 
two  enclosures  as  cellars,  opposite  to  each  other,  beneath 
the  hall ;  and  one  enclosure  for  a  sewer,  with  two  pipes 
leading  to  the  said  sewer;  and  one  stable,  Iblaji/c]  in 
length,  between  the  said  hall  and  the  old  kitchen,  and 
twelve  feet  in  width,  with  a  solar  above  such  stable, 
and  a  garret  above  the  solar  aforesaid ;  and  at  one  end 
of  such  solar,  there  is  to  be  a  kitchen  with  a  chimney ; 
and  there  is  to  be  an  oriel  between  the  said  hall  and  the 
old  chamber,  eight  feet  in  width. .  .  .  And  the  said  William 

♦  Cooper,  "Annals  of  Cambridge,"  an.  1445  ;  Rashdall,  "  Universities 
of  Europe,"  ii.,  413.  Cf.  the  "common  nightwalkcrs"  and  "roarers"  in 
Riley,  pp.  86  [{. 


LONDON  CUSTOM-HOUSE  85 

de  Hanigtone  acknowledged  that  he  was  bound  to  pay 
to  Simon  before-mentioned,  for  the  work  aforesaid,  the 
sum  of  £g  55.  ^d.  sterling,  half  a  hundred  of  Eastern 
martenskins,  fur  for  a  woman's  head,  value  five  shillings, 
and  fur  for  a  robe  of  him,  the  said  Simon,  etc."  *  Read 
side  by  side  with  this  the  list  of  another  fairly  well-to- 
do  citizen's  furniture  in  1337.  Hugh  le  Benere,  a  Vintner 
who  owned  several  tenements,  was  accused  of  having 
murdered  Alice  his  wife.f  He  refused  to  plead,  was 
condemned  to  prison  for  life,  and  his  goods  were 
inventoried.  Omitting  the  stock-in-trade  of  six  casks 
of  wine  (valued  at  six  marks),  the  wearing  apparel,  and 
the  helmet  and  quilted  doublet  in  which  Hugh  had  to 
turn  out  for  the  general  muster,  the  whole  furniture  was 
as  follows:  "One  mattress,  value  4s.;  6  blankets  and 
one  serge,  135.  6d.',  one  green  carpet,  25.;  one  torn 
coverlet,  with  shields  of  sendal,  4s. ;  ...  7  linen  sheets, 
5s. ;  one  table-cloth,  25. ;  3  table-cloths,  iSd.;.  .  .  one 
canvas,  ^d. ;  3  feather  beds,  8s. ;  5  cushions,  6d.  ;  .  .  .  t, 
brass  pots,  12s.;  one  brass  pot,  6s.)  2  pairs  of  brass 
pots,  25.  6d. ;  one  brass  pot,  broken,  25.  6d. ;  one  candle- 
stick of  latten,  and  one  plate,  with  one  small  brass 
plate,  25. ;  2  pieces  of  lead,  6d. ;  one  grate,  3^?. ;  2  and- 
irons, iSd.;  2  basins,  with  one  washing  vessel,  5s.; 
one  iron  grating,  i2d.  ;  one  tripod,  2d. ;  .  .  .  one  iron 
spit,  ^d. ;  one  frying-pan,  id. ;  ...  one  funnel,  id. ; 
one  small  canvas  bag,  id. ;  ...  one  old  linen  sheet, 
id. ;  2  pillows,  3(^. ;  .  .  .  one  counter,  45. ;  2  coffers, 
8d. ;  2  curtains,  8d.  ;  2  remnants  of  cloth,  id. ;  6  chests, 
105.    lod.;   one   folding  table,    i2d. ;   2  chairs,  8d. ;   one 

*  Riley,  p.  65.  See  the  specifications  for  some  three-storied  houses 
of  a  century  later  quoted  by  Besant.  "  Medieval  London,"  i.,  250.  The 
furs  here  specified  may  well  have  come  to  ^3  or  £4.  more  (see  Rogers, 
"Agriculture  and  Prices,"  pp.  536  ff.).  The  fur  for  an  Oxford  warden's 
gown  varied  from  26s.  8d.  to  83^-. 

t  Besant,  loc.  df.,  i.,  257,  mistakenly  calls  Hugh  a  "craftsman,"  and 
gives  from  his  imagination  a  quite  untrustworthy  description  of  the 
inquest,  the  house,  and  the  shop.  He  had  evidently  not  seen  the  supple- 
mentary notice  in  Sharpe's  "  Letter  Book,"  F. 


86  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

portable  cupboard,  6d. ;  2  tubs,  2s. ;  also  firewood, 
sold  for  3s. ;  one  mazer  cup,  6s. ;  .  .  .  one  cup  called 
"note"  {i.e.  cocoanut)  with  a  foot  and  cover  of  silver, 
value  305. ;  6  silver  spoons,  6s."  * 

This  implies  no  very  high  standard  of  domestic 
comfort.  The  hall,  it  must  be  remembered,  had  no 
chimney  in  the  modern  sense,  but  a  hole  in  the  roof  to 
which  the  smoke  went  up  from  an  open  hearth  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  more  or  less  assisted  in  most  cases 
by  a  funnel-shaped  erection  of  lath  and  plaster.f  It  is 
not  generally  realized  what  draughts  our  ancestors  were 
obliged  to  accept  as  unavoidable,  even  when  they  sat 
partially  screened  by  their  high-backed  seats,  as  in  old 
inn  kitchens.  A  man  needed  his  warmest  furs  still 
more  for  sitting  indoors  than  for  walking  abroad ;  and 
to  Montaigne,  even  in  1580,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
things  in  Switzerland  was  the  draughtless  comfort  of 
the  stove-warmed  rooms.  "One  neither  burns  one's 
face  nor  one's  boots,  and  one  escapes  the  smoke  of 
P>ench  houses.  Moreover,  whereas  we  [in  France]  take 
our  warm  and  furred  i^obcs  dc  chamhrc  when  we  enter  the 
house,  they  on  the  contrary  dress  in  their  doublets,  with 
their  heads  uncovered  to  the  very  hair,  and  put  on  their 
warm  clothes  to  walk  in  the  open  air.":}:  The  important 
part  played  by  furs  of  all  kinds,  and  the  matter-of-course 
mention  of  dirt  and  vermin,  are  among  the  first  things 
that  strike  us  in  medieval  literature. 

♦  Riley,  p.  199  ;  cf.  Sharpc,  "  Letter  Books,"  F,  pp.  19,  1 13.  A  list  of 
furniture  left  by  a  richer  citizen,  apparently  incomplete,  is  given  in  Riley, 
p.  123,  and  another  on  p.  283,  but  this  is  difficult  to  separate  with  certainty 
from  his  stock-in-trade.  The  inventory  of  a  well-to-do  Norman  peasant- 
farmer  is  given  by  S.  Luce,  "  Du  Guesclin,"  p.  51.  Here  the  strictly 
domestic  items  are  only  "  four  frying-pans,  two  metal  pots,  four  chests, 
three  caskets,  two  feather-beds,  three  tables,  a  bedstead,  an  iron  shovel, 
a  gridiron,  a  [trough  ?],  and  a  lantern."     This  was  in  1333. 

t  Addy,  "Evolution  of  English  House,"  pp.  112  ff.  "A  chamber 
with  a  chimney"  was  the  acme  of  medieval  comfort.  "P.  Plowman'' 
B.,  X.,  p.  98,  and  "  Crede,"  209. 

X  "CEuvres,"  ed.  Buchon,  p.  646.  A  century  later,  Thomas  Elwood's 
Memoirs  show  that  an  English  squire's  family  needed  their  warm  caps  as 
much  indoors  as  outside. 


LONDON   CUSTOM-HOUSE  87 

But  the  worst  discomfort  of  the  house,  to  the  modern 
mind,  was  the  want  of  privacy.  There  was  generally 
but  one  bedroom  ;  for  most  of  the  household  the  house 
meant  simply  the  hall ;  and  some  of  those  with  whom 
the  rest  were  brought  into  such  close  contact  might 
indeed  be  "gey  ill  to  live  wi'."  *  We  have  seen  that, 
even  as  a  King's  squire,  Chaucer  had  not  a  bed  to  him- 
self; and  sometimes  one  bed  had  to  accommodate  three 
occupants.  This  was  so  ordered,  for  instance,  by  the 
15th-century  statutes  of  the  choir-school  at  Wells,  which 
provided  minutely  for  the  packing :  "  two  smaller  boys 
with  their  heads  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  an  older 
one  with  his  head  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  his  feet 
between  the  others'  heads."  A  distinguished  theologian 
of  the  same  century,  narrating  a  ghost-story  of  his  own, 
begins  quite  naturally  :  "  When  I  was  a  youth,  and  lay 
in  a  square  chamber,  which  had  only  a  single  door  well 
shut  from  within,  together  with  three  more  companions 
in  the  same  bed.  .  .  ."  One  of  these,  we  presently  find, 
"was  of  greater  age,  and  a  man  of  some  experience."  t 
The  upper  classes  of  Chaucer's  later  days  had  indeed 
begun  to  introduce  revolutionary  changes  into  the  old- 
fashioned  common  life  of  the  hall ;  a  generation  of 
unparalleled  success  in  war  and  commerce  was  already 
making  possible,  and  therefore  inevitable,  a  new  cleavage 
between  class  and  class.  The  author  of  the  B.  text  of 
"  Piers  Plowman,"  writing  about  i  m^  complains  of  these 
new  and  unsociable  ways  (x.,  94). 

"Ailing  is  the  Hall  each  day  in  the  week, 
Where  the  lord  nor  the  lady  liketh  not  to  sit. 
Now  hath  each  rich  man  a  rule  to  eaten  by  himself 
In  a  privy  parlour,  for  poor  men's  sake, 
Or  in  a  chamber  with  a  chimney,  and  leave  the  chief  Hall, 
That  was  made  for  meals,  and  men  to  eaten  in." 

*  Cf.  the  affair  in  the  hall  of  Wolsingham  Rectory  in  1370.  Raine, 
"  Auckland  Castle,"  p.  38. 

t  A.  F.  Leach,  "  English  Schools  before  the  Reformation,"  p.  ro ; 
"  Dame  Alice  Kyteler  "  (Camden  Soc),  introd.,  p.  xxxix.  The  choir-boys, 
it  may  be  noted  in  passing,  had  only  half  an  hour  of  playtime  daily. 


88  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

Few  men,  however,  could  afford  even  these  rudiments 
of  privacy ;  people  like  Chaucer,  of  fair  income  and 
good  social  position,  still  found  in  their  homes  many  of 
the  discomforts  of  shipboard ;  and  their  daily  intercourse 
with  their  fellow-men  bred  the  same  blunt  familiarity, 
even  beneath  the  most  ceremonious  outward  fashions. 
It  was  not  only  starveling  dependents  like  Lippo  Lippi, 
whose  daily  life  compelled  them  to  study  night  and  day 
the  faces  and  outward  ways  of  their  fellow-men. 

But  let  us  get  back  again  into  the  street,  where  all 
the  work  and  play  of  London  was  as  visible  to  the 
passer-by  as  that  of  any  colony  of  working  ants  under 
the  glass  cases  in  a  modern  exhibition.  Often,  of  course, 
there  were  set  pageants  for  edification  or  distraction — 
Miracle  Plays  and  solemn  church  processions  twice  or 
thrice  in  the  year, — the  Mayor's  annual  ride  to  the  palace 
of  Westminster  and  back, — the  King's  return  with  a  new 
Queen  or  after  a  successful  campaign,  as  in  1357,  when 
Edward  III.  "came  over  the  Bridge  and  through  the 
City  of  London,  with  the  King  of  France  and  other 
prisoners  of  rich  ransom  in  his  train.  He  entered  the 
city  about  tierce  [9  a.m.]  and  made  for  Westminster; 
but  at  the  news  of  his  coming  so  great  a  crowd  of  folk 
ran  together  to  see  this  marvellous  sight,  that  for  the 
press  of  the  people  he  could  scarce  reach  his  palace 
after  noonday."  Frequent  again  were  the  royal  tourna- 
ments at  Smithfield,  Cheapside,  and  Westminster,  or 
"  trials  by  battle  "  in  those  same  lists,  when  one  gentle- 
man had  accused  another  of  treachery,  and  London 
citizens  might  see  the  quarrel  decided  by  God's  judg- 
ment* Here  were  welcome  contrasts  to  the  monotony 
of  household  life ;  for  there  was  in  all  these  shows  a 
piquant  element  of  personal  risk,  or  at  least  of  possible 
broken  heads  for  others.  Even  if  the  King  threw  down 
his  truncheon  before  the  bitter  end  of  the  duel,  even  if 

*  It  is  interesting  to  note  that,  when  Chaucer  was  Clerk  of  the  Works 
to  Richard  II.,  he  superintended  the  erection  of  scaffolds  for  the  King 
and  Queen  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  these  Smithfield  tournaments. 


LONDON   CUSTOM-HOUSE  89 

no  bones  were  broken  at  the  tournament,  something  at 
least  would  happen  amongst  the  crowd.  Fountains  ran 
wine  in  the  morning,  and  blood  was  pretty  sure  to  be 
shed  somewhere  before  night.  In  1396,  when  the  little 
French  Princess  of  eight  years  was  brought  to  her  Royal 
bridegroom  at  Westminster,  nine  persons  were  crushed 
to  death  on  London  Bridge,  and  the  Prior  of  Tiptree 
was  among  the  dead.  Even  the  church  processions,  as 
episcopal  registers  show,  ended  not  infrequently  in 
scuffling,  blows,  and  bloodshed ;  and  the  frequent  holy 
days  enjoyed  then,  as  since,  a  sad  notoriety  for  crime. 
Moreover,  these  things  were  not,  as  with  us,  mere 
matters  of  newspaper  knowledge;  they  stared  the 
passer-by  in  the  face.  Chaucer  must  have  heard  from 
his  father  how  the  unpopular  Bishop  Stapledon  was 
torn  from  his  horse  at  the  north  door  of  St,  Paul's  and 
beheaded  with  two  of  his  esquires  in  Cheapside ;  how 
the  clergy  of  the  cathedral  and  of  St,  Clement's  feared 
to  harbour  the  corpses,  which  lay  naked  by  the  roadside 
at  Temple  Bar  until  "  women  and  wretched  poor  folk 
took  the  Bishop's  naked  corpse,  and  a  woman  gave  him 
an  old  rag  to  cover  his  belly,  and  they  buried  him  in  a 
waste  plot  called  the  Lawless  Church,  with  his  squires 
by  his  side,  all  naked  and  without  office  of  priest  or 
clerk."*  Chaucer  himself  must  have  seen  some  of  the 
many  similar  tragedies  in  1381,  for  they  are  among  the 
few  events  of  contemporary  history  which  we  can 
definitely  trace  in  his  poems — 

Have  ye  not  seen  some  time  a  pale  face 
Among  a  press,  of  him  that  hath  been  led 
Toward  his  death,  where  as  him  gat  no  grace, 
And  such  a  colour  in  his  face  hath  had, 
Men  mightc  know  his  face  that  was  bestead 
Amonges  all  the  faces  in  that  rout  ?  t 

What  modern  Londoner  has  witnessed  this,  or  anything 

*  "  French  Chron.  of  London"  (Camden  Soc),  p.  52  ;  cf.  Walsingham, 
an.  1326. 

t  "C.T.,^'B.,645. 


90  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

like  it?  Yet  to  all  his  living  readers  Chaucer  appealed 
confidently,  "Have  ye  not  seen?"  Scores  of  wretched 
lawyers  and  jurors  were  hunted  down  in  that  riot,  and 
hurried  through  the  streets  to  have  their  heads  hacked 
off  at  Tower  Hill  or  Cheapside,  "and  many  Flemings 
lost  their  head  at  that  time,  and  namely  [specially]  they 
that  could  not  say  '  Bread  and  Cheese,'  but  '  Case  and 
Erode.' "  *  It  may  well  have  been  Simon  of  Sudbury's 
white  face  that  haunted  Chaucer,  when  the  mob  forgot 
his  archbishopric  in  the  unpopularity  of  his  ministry, 
forgot  the  sanctity  of  the  chapel  at  whose  altar  he  had 
taken  refuge,  "  paid  no  reverence  even  to  the  Lord's 
Body  which  the  priest  held  up  before  him,  but  worse 
than  demons  (who  fear  and  flee  Christ's  sacrament) 
dragged  him  by  the  arms,  by  his  hood,  by  different 
parts  of  the  body  towards  their  fellow-rioters  on  Tower 
Hill  without  the  gates.  When  they  had  come  thither,  a 
most  horrible  shout  arose,  not  like  men's  shouts,  but 
worse  beyond  all  comparison  than  all  human  cries,  and 
most  like  to  the  yelling  of  devils  in  hell.  Moreover, 
they  cried  thus  whensoever  they  beheaded  men  or  tore 
down  their  houses,  so  long  as  God  permitted  them  to 
work  their  iniquity  unpunished."  f  De  Quincey  has 
noted  how  such  cries  may  make  a  deeper  mark  on  the 
soul  than  any  visible  scene.  And  here  again  Chaucer 
has  brought  his  own  experience,  though  half  in  jest,  as  a 
parallel  to  the  sack  of  Ilion  and  Carthage  or  the  burning 
of  Rome — 

So  hideous  was  the  noise,  benedicite  ! 

Certiis,  he  Jacke  Straw,  and  his  mcinie 

Nc  made  never  shoutiis  half  so  shrill, 

When  that  they  woulden  any  P'leming  kill  .  .  .  t 

Last  tragedy  of  all — but  this  time,  though  he  may  well 
have  seen,  the  poet  could  no  longer  write — Richard  II. 's 
corpse  "was  brought  to  St.  Paul's  in  London,  and  his 

•  "  Chronicles  of  London,"  ed.  Kingsford,  p.  15. 
t  VValsingham,  an.  1381. 
\  "C.T.,"B.,  4583. 


LONDON  CUSTOM-HOUSE  91 

face  shown   to  the  people,"  that  they  might   know  he 
was  really  dead* 

Nor  was  there  less  comedy  than  tragedy  in  the 
London  streets;  the  heads  grinned  down  from  the 
spikes  of  London  Bridge  on  such  daily  buffooneries  as 
scarcely  survive  nowadays  except  in  the  amenities  of 
cabdrivers  aqd  busmen.  The  hue  and  cry  after  a  thief 
in  one  of  these  narrow  streets,  encumbered  with  show- 
benches  and  goods  of  every  description,  must  at  any 
time  have  been  a  Rabelaisian  farce;  and  still  more  so 
when  it  was  the  thief  who  had  raised  the  hue  and  cry 
after  a  true  man,  and  had  slipped  off  himself  in  the 
confusion.  The  crowds  who  gather  in  modern  towns 
to  see  a  man  in  handcuffs  led  from  a  dingy  van  up  the 
dingy  court  steps  would  have  found  a  far  keener  relish 
in  the  public  punishments  which  Chaucer  saw  on  his 
way  to  and  from  work;  fraudulent  tradesmen  in  the 
pillory,  with  their  putrid  wares  burning  under  their 
noses,  or  drinking  wry-mouthed  the  corrupt  wine  which 
they  had  palmed  off  on  the  public ;  scolding  wives  in 
the  somewhat  milder  "thewe"  ;  sometimes  a  penitential 
procession  all  round  the  cit}'',  as  in  the  case  of  the 
quack  doctor  and  astrologer  whose  story  is  so  vividly 
told  by  the  good  Monk  of  St.  Alban's.  The  impostor 
"was  set  on  a  horse  [barebacked]  with  the  beast's  tail 
in  his  hand  for  a  bridle,  and  two  pots  which  in  the 
vulgar  tongue  we  call  Jordans  bound  round  his  neck, 
with  a  whetstone  in  sign  that  he  earned  all  this  by  his 
lies;  and  thus  he  was  led  round  the  whole  city."t  A 
lay  chronicler  might  have  given  us  the  reverse  of  the 
medal;  some  priest  barelegged  in  his  shirt,  with  a 
lighted  taper  in  his  hand,  doing  penance  for  his  sins 
before  the  congregation  of  his  own  church.  The  author 
of  "  Piers  Plowman  "  knew  this  well  enough ;  in  intro- 
ducing us  to  his  tavern  company,  it  is  a  priest  and  a 
parish  clerk  whom  he  shows  us  cheek-by-jowl  with  the 

*  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  387. 

t  Walsingham,  an.  1382  ;  Riley,  p.  464- 


92  CHAUCER   AND    HIS   ENGLAND 

two  least  reputable  ladies  of  the  party.  The  whole 
passage  deserves  quoting  in  full  as  a  picture  of  low  life 
indeed,  but  one  familiar  enough  to  Chaucer  and  his 
friends  in  their  day ;  for  it  is  a  matter  of  common 
remark  that  even  the  distance  which  separated  different 
classes  in  earlier  days  made  it  easier  for  them  to  mix 
familiarly  in  public.  The  very  catalogue  of  this  tavern 
company  is  a  comedy  in  itself,  and  may  well  conclude 
our  survey  of  common  London  sights.  Glutton,  on  his 
way  to  morning  mass,  has  passed  Bett  the  brewster's 
open  door ;  and  her  persuasive  "  I  have  good  ale, 
gossip"  has  broken  down  all  his  good  resolutions — 

Then  goeth  Glutton  in,  and  great  oaths  after. 

Ciss  the  seamstress  sat  on  the  bench, 

Wat  the  warrener,  and  his  wife  drunk, 

Tim  the  tinker,  and  twain  of  his  knaves. 

Hick  the  hackneyman  and  Hugh  the  needier  ; 

Clarice  of  Cock's  Lane,  the  clerk  of  the  church. 

Sir  Piers  of  Prydie  and  Pernel  of  Flanders  ; 

An  hayward  and  an  hermit,  the  hangman  of  Tyburn, 

Daw  the  dyker,  with  a  dozen  harlots  [rascals 

Of  porters  and  pickpurses  and  pilled  tooth-drawers  ;  [bald 

A  ribiber  and  a  ratter,  a  raker  and  his  knave     [lute-player,  scavenger, 

A  roper  and  a  ridingking,  and  Rose  the  disher,        [mercenary  trooper 

Godfrey  the  garlicmonger  and  Griffin  the  Welshman, 

And  upholders  an  heap,  early  by  the  morrow  [furniture-brokers 

Give  Glutton  with  glad  cheer  good  ale  to  hansel.*  [try 

*  "P.  Plowman,"  C,  vii.,  352  fif.     For  Clarice  and  Peronel,  see  Prof. 
Skeat's  notes,  ad  loc,  and  cf.  Riley,  pp.  484,  566,  and  note  3. 


A    TOOTH -DK.WVKK    OF    THK   UTH    CE^■•JT■R^^   WTIH    A    WRKAIH 
OF    PAST   TROFHIF'.S    OVER    HIS    SHOUFDI-.R 

(kKOM    MS.    KC'.    \"I.    H.    0  f.    =03  1>) 


CHAPTER  VIII 
ALDGATE   TOWER 

"  For  though  the  love  of  books,  in  a  cleric,  be  honourable  in  the  very 
nature  of  the  case,  yet  it  hath  sorely  exposed  us  to  the  adverse  judgment 
of  many  folk,  to  whom  we  became  an  object  of  wonder,  and  v/ere  blamed 
at  one  time  for  greediness  in  that  matter,  or  again  for  seeming  vanity,  or 
again,  for  intemperate  delight  in  letters  ;  yet  we  cared  no  more  for  their 
revilings  than  for  the  barking  of  curs,  contented  with  His  testimony  alone 
to  Whom  it  pertaineth  to  try  the  hearts  and  reins.  .  .  .  Yet  perchance 
they  would  have  praised  and  been  kindly  affected  towards  us  if  we  had 
spent  our  time  in  hunting  wild  beasts,  in  playing  at  dice,  or  in  courting 
ladies'  favours." — The  "  Philobiblon"  of  Bp.  R.  de  Bury  (1287-1345). 

EVEN  in  the  14th  century  a  man's  house  was  more 
truly  his  castle  in  England  than  in  any  country  of 
equal  population;  and  Chaucer  was  particularly  fortunate 
in  having  secured  a  city  castle  for  his  house.  The 
records  show  that  such  leases  were  commonly  granted 
by  the  authorities  to  men  of  influence  and  good  position 
in  the  City;  in  1367  the  Black  Prince  specially  begged 
the  Mayor  that  Thomas  de  Kent  might  have  Cripple- 
gate  ;  and  we  have  curious  evidence  of  the  keen  com- 
petition for  Aldgate.  The  Mayor  and  Aldermen  granted 
to  Chaucer  in  1374  "the  whole  dwelling-house  above 
Aldgate  Gate,  with  the  chambers  thereon  built  and  a 
certain  cellar  beneath  the  said  gate,  on  the  eastern  side 
thereof,  together  with  all  its  appurtenances,  for  the 
lifetime  of  the  said  Geoffrey."  There  was  no  rent, 
though  of  course  Chaucer  had  to  keep  it  in  repair ;  in 
an  earlier  lease  of  1354,  the  tenant  had  paid  135.  <\d.  a 
year  besides  repairs.  The  City  promised  to  keep  no 
prisoners  in  the  tower  during  Chaucer's  tenancy,*  but 

*  Newgate,  Ludgate,  and  Cripplegate  were  regular  prisons  at  this 
time ;  but  Besant  is  quite  mistaken  in  saying  that  all  gate-leases  provide 


94  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

naturally  stipulated  that  they  might  take  possession  of 
their  gate  when  necessary  for  the  defence  of  the  City. 
In  1386,  as  we  have  already  seen  and  shall  see  more 
fully  hereafter,  there  was  a  scare  of  invasion  so  serious 
that  the  authorities  can  scarcely  have  failed  to  take  the 
gates  into  their  own  hands  for  a  while.  Though  this 
need  not  necessarily  have  ended  Chaucer's  tenancy 
altogether,  yet  he  must  in  fact  have  given  it  up  then,  if 
not  earlier;  and  a  Common  Council  meeting  held  on 
October  4  resolved  to  grant  no  such  leases  in  future 
"by  reason  of  divers  damages  that  have  befallen  the 
said  city,  through  grants  made  to  many  persons,  as  well 
of  the  Gates  and  the  dwelling-houses  above  them,  as  of 
the  gardens  and  vacant  places  adjoining  the  walls,  gates, 
and  fosses  of  the  said  city,  whereby  great  and  divers 
mischiefs  may  readily  hereafter  ensue."  Yet  o)i  the  very 
next  day  (and  this  is  our  first  notice  of  the  end  of 
Chaucer's  tenancy)  a  fresh  lease  of  Aldgate  tower  and 
house  was  granted  to  Chaucer's  friend  Richard  Forster 
by  another  friend  of  the  poet's,  Nicholas  Brembre,  who 
was  then  Mayor.  This  may  very  likely  have  been  a 
pre-arranged  job  among  the  three  friends ;  but  the 
flagrant  violation  of  the  law  may  well  seem  startling 
even  to  those  who  have  realized  the  frequent  contrasts 
between  medieval  theory  and  medieval  practice;  and 
after  this  we  are  quite  prepared  for  Riley's  footnote, 
"Within  a  very  short  period  after  this  enactment  was 
made,  it  came  to  be  utterly  disregarded."  *  The  whole 
transaction,  however,  shows  clearly  that  the  Aldgate 
lodging  was  considered  a  prize  in  its  way. 

That  Chaucer  loved  it,  we  know  from  one  of  the  too 
rare  autobiographical  passages  in  his  poems,  describing 

"  that  they  may  be  taken  over  as  prisons  if  they  are  wanted  "  ("  Medieval 
London,"  i.,  163).  A  Cripplcgalc  lease  (Riley,  p.  387)  has  naturally  such 
a  proYision  ;  the  others  arc  silent  or  (like  Chaucer's)  dcrinitely  promise 
the  contrary. 

*  P.  489;  cf.  "Life  Records,"  IV.,  xxxiv.     Michaelmas  Day  fell  in 
1386  on  a  Saturday. 


ALDGATE  TOWER  95 

his  shy  seclusion  even  more  plainly  than  the  Host  hints 
at  it  in  the  "  Canterbury  Tales."  The  "  House  of  Fame  " 
is  a  serio-comic  poem  modelled  vaguely  on  Dante's 
"  Comedia,"  in  which  a  golden  eagle  carries  Chaucer  up 
to  heaven,  and,  like  Beatrice,  plays  the  part  of  Mentor 
all  the  while.  The  poet,  who  was  at  first  somewhat 
startled  by  the  sudden  rush  through  the  air,  and  feared 
lest  he  might  have  been  chosen  as  an  unworthy  suc- 
cessor to  Enoch  and  Elias,  is  presently  quieted  by  the 
Eagle's  assurance  that  this  temporary  apotheosis  is  his 
reward  as  the  Clerk  of  Love — 

Love  holdeth  it  great  humbleness, 
And  virtue  eke,  that  thou  wilt  make 
A-night  full  oft  thy  head  to  ache, 
In  thy  study  so  thou  writest 
And  ever  more  of  Love  enditest. 

The  Ruler  of  the  Gods,  therefore,  has  taken  pity  on  the 
poet's  lonely  life — 

That  is,  that  thou  hast  no  tidings 

Of  Love's  folk,  if  they  be  glad, 

Nor  of  nothing  elles  that  God  made  : 

And  not  only  from  far  countree, 

Whence  no  tiding  cometh  to  thee. 

But  of  thy  very  neighebores 

That  dwellen  almost  at  thy  doors. 

Thou  hearest  neither  that  nor  this  ; 

For,  when  thy  labour  done  all  is. 

And  hast  y-made  thy  reckonings, 

Instead  of  rest  and  newe  things 

Thou  go'st  home  to  thy  house  anon. 

And,  all  so  dumb  as  any  stone. 

Thou  sittest  at  another  book 

Till  fully  dazed  is  thy  look, 

And  livest  thus  as  an  heremite, 

Although  thy  abstinence  is  lite.*  [little 

Here  we  have  the  central  figure  of  the  Aldgate  Chamber, 
but  what  was  the  background  ?  Was  his  room,  as  some 
will  have  it,  such  as  that  to  which  his  eyes  opened  in  the 
"Book  of  the  Duchess"? 

*  Bk.  IL,  hnes  122  ff. 


96  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

And  sooth  to  say  my  chamber  was 

Full  well  depainted,  and  with  glass 

Were  all  the  windows  well  y-glazed 

Full  clear,  and  not  one  hole  y-crazed,  [cracked 

That  to  behold  it  was  great  joy  ; 

For  wholly  all  the  story  of  Troy 

Was  in  the  glazing  y-wrought  thus  .  .  . 

And  all  the  walls  with  colours  fine 

Were  painted,  bothe  text  and  glose,  [commentary 

And  all  the  Romance  of  the  Rose. 

My  windows  weren  shut  each  one 

And  through  the  glass  the  sunne  shone 

Upon  my  bed  with  brighte  beams.  .  .  . 

Those  lines  were  written  before  the  Aldgate  days ;  and 
the  hints  which  can  be  gathered  from  surviving  inven- 
tories and  similar  sources  make  it  very  improbable  that 
the  poet  was  lodged  with  anything  like  such  outward 
magnificence.  The  storied  glass  and  the  frescoed  wall 
were  far  more  probably  a  reminiscence  from  Windsor, 
or  from  Chaucer's  life  with  one  of  the  royal  dukes ;  and 
the  furniture  of  the  Aldgate  dwelling-house  is  likely  to 
have  resembled  in  quantity  that  which  w^e  have  seen 
recorded  of  Hugh  le  Benere,  and  in  quality  the  similar 
but  more  valuable  stock  of  Richard  de  Blountesham. 
(Riley,  p.  123.)  Richard  possessed  bedding  for  three 
beds  to  the  total  value  of  fifty  shillings  and  eight- 
pence  ;  his  brass  pot  weighed  sixty-seven  pounds  ;  and, 
over  and  above  his  pewter  plates,  dishes,  and  salt- 
cellars, he  possessed  "three  silver  cups,  ten  shillings  in 
weight."  Three  better  cups  than  these,  at  least,  stood 
in  the  Chaucer  cupboard  ;  for  on  New  Year's  Day,  1380, 
1 381,  and  1382,  the  accounts  of  the  Duchy  of  Lancaster 
record  presents  from  John  of  Gaunt  to  Philippa  Chaucer 
of  silver-gilt  cups  with  covers.  The  first  of  these 
weighed  thirty-one  shilHngs,  and  cost  nearly  three 
pounds;  the  second  and  third  were  apparently  rather 
more  valuable.  We  must  suppose,  therefore,  that  the 
Aldgate  rooms  were  handsomely  furnished,  as  a  London 
citizen's  rooms  went ;  but  we  must  beware  here  of  such 
exaggerations   as   the   genius   of  William    Morris   has 


ALDGATE   TOWER 


97 


popularized.  The  assumption  that  the  poet  knew 
familiarly  every  book  from  which  he  quotes  has  long 
been  exploded ;  and  it  is  quite  as  unsafe  to  suppose  that 


Ground     Plan 


KITCHEN    &    BUTTERY 

(WITH    BEDROOM    ABOVEJ 


u 


HALL 

(QPEN    TO    THE    ROOF) 


STORE    ROOM 

(WITH  ROOM  ABOVE) 


SCALE    OF    FEET. 

10    20    30   40  50    60  TO  80 


Plan   of   Upper  Story  of   Aldgate 

(FROM  3YM0NS'  GROUND  PLAN,    C    1692.) 


1.  GROUND  PLAN  AND  SECTION  OF  THE  CLERGY-HOUSE  AT  ALFRISTON 
— A  TYPICAL  TIMBER  HOUSE  OF  THE  I4TH  CENTURY.  (For  the  Hall,  see 
Chaucer's  "  Miller's  Tale") 

2.  PLAN   OF  ALDGATE   TOWER  AS   IT  WAS   IN   CHAUCER's   TIME 


the  artistic  glories  which  he  so  often  describes  formed 
part  of  his  home  life.  There  were  tapestries  and 
stained  glass  in  churches  for  every  man  to  see,  and 
in  palaces  and  castles  for  the  enjoyment  of  the   few  ; 


98  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

but  they  become  fairly  frequent  in  citizens'  houses  only 
in  the  century  after  Chaucer's  death ;  and  it  was  very 
easy  to  spend  an  income  such  as  his  without  the  aid  of 
artistic  extravagance.  Froissart,  whose  circumstances 
were  so  nearly  the  same,  and  who,  though  a  priest,  was 
just  as  little  given  to  abstinence,  confesses  to  having 
spent  2000  livres(or  some;^8ooo  modern  English  money) 
in  twenty-five  years,  over  and  above  his  fat  living  of 
Lestinnes.  "And  yet  I  hoard  no  grain  in  my  barns,  I 
build  no  churches,  or  clocks,  or  ships,  or  galleys,  or 
manor-houses.  I  spend  not  my  money  on  furnishing 
fine  rooms  .  .  .  My  chronicles  indeed  have  cost  me 
a  good  seven  hundred  livres,  at  the  least,  and  the  tav- 
erners  of  Lestinnes  have  had  a  good  five  hundred 
more."  *  Froissart's  confession  introduces  a  witty 
poetical  plea  for  fresh  contributions ;  and  if  Chaucer 
had  added  a  couple  of  similar  stanzas  to  the  "  Complaint 
to  his  Empty  Purse,"  it  is  probable  that  their  tenor 
would  have  been  much  the  same :  "  Books,  and  the 
Taverner  ;  and  I've  had  my  money's  worth  from  both  ! " 
Professor  Lounsbury  ("  Studies  in  Chaucer,"  chap,  v.) 
has  discoursed  exhaustively,  and  very  judicially,  on 
Chaucer's  learning;  he  shows  clearly  what  books  the 
poet  knew  only  as  nodding  acquaintances,  and  how 
many  others  he  must  at  one  time  have  possessed,  or  at 
least  have  had  at  hand  for  serious  study ;  and  it  would 
be  impertinent  to  go  back  here  over  the  same  ground. 
But  Professor  Lounsbury  is  less  clear  on  the  subject 
which  most  concerns  us  here — the  average  price  of 
books  ;  for  the  three  volumes  v/hich  he  instances  from 
the  King's  library  were  no  doubt  illuminated,  and  he 
follows  Devon  in  the  obvious  slip  of  describing  the 
French  Bible  as  "written  in  the  Gaelic  language." 
(II.,  196;  the  reference  to  Devon  should  be  p.  213,  not 
218.)  But,  at  the  lowest  possible  estimate,  books  were 
certainly  an  item  which  would  have  swelled  any  budget 
seriously  in  the  14th  century.     This  was  indeed  grossly 

*  Darmesteter,  "  Froissart,"  p.  112. 


ALDGATE  TOWER  99 

overstated  by  Robertson  and  other  writers  of  a  century 
ago ;  but  Maitland's  "  Dark  Ages,"  while  correcting 
their  exaggerations,  is  itself  calculated  to  mislead  in 
the  other  direction.  A  small  Bible  was  cheap  at  forty 
shillings,  i.e.  the  equivalent  of  ;^3o  in  modern  money  ; 
so  that  the  twenty  volumes  of  Aristotle  which  Chaucer's 
Clerk  of  Oxford  had  at  his  bed's  head  could  scarcely 
have  failed  to  cost  him  the  value  of  three  average 
citizens'  houses  in  a  great  town.  *  Among  all  the 
church  dignitaries  whose  wills  are  recorded  in  Bishop 
Stafford's  Register  at  Exeter  (i 395-1419)  the  largest 
library  mentioned  is  only  of  fourteen  volumes.  The 
sixty  testators  include  a  Dean,  two  Archdeacons,  twenty 
Canons  or  Prebendaries,  thirteen  Rectors,  six  Vicars, 
and  eighteen  layfolk,  mostly  rich  people.  The  whole 
sixty  apparently  possessed  only  two  Bibles  between 
them,  and  only  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  books 
altogether ;  or,  omitting  church  service-books,  only 
sixty;  i.e.  exactly  one  each  on  an  average.  Thirteen 
of  the  beneficed  clergy  were  altogether  bookless, 
though  several  of  them  possessed  the  baselard  or 
dagger  which  church  councils  had  forbidden  in  vain 
for  centuries  past ;  four  more  had  only  their  Breviary. 
Of  the  laity  fifteen  were  bookless,  while  three  had 
service-books,  one  of  these  being  a  knight,  who  simply 
bequeathed  them  as  part  of  the  furniture  of  his  private 
chapel.  Any  similar  collection  of  wills  and  inventories 
would  (I  believe)  give  the  same  results,  which  fully 
agree  with  the  independent  evidence  of  contemporary 
writers.  Bishop  Richard  de  Bury  (or  possibly  the 
distinguished  theologian,  Holcot,  writing  in  his  name) 
speaks  bitterly  of  the  neglect  of  books  in  the  14th 
century.  Not  only  (he  says)  is  the  ardent  collector 
ridiculed,  but  even  education  is  despised,  and  money 
rules  the  world.  Laymen,  who  do  not  even  care  whether 
books  lie  straight  or  upside  down,  are  utterly  unworthy 

*  Riley,  pp.  194,  285,  338  ;  cf.  Mr.  W.  Hudson's  "  Parish  of  St.  Peter 
Permountergate  "  (Norwich,  1889),  pp.  21,  45,  60. 


100      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

of  all  communion  with  them ;  the  secular  clergy  neglect 
them ;  the  monastic  clergy  (with  honourable  exceptions 
among  the  friars)  pamper  their  bodies  and  leave  their 
books  amid  the  dust  and  rubbish,  till  they  become 
"corrupt  and  abominable,  breeding-grounds  for  mice, 
riddled  with  worm-holes."  Even  when  in  use,  they 
have  a  score  of  deadly  enemies — dirty  and  careless 
readers  (whose  various  peculiarities  the  good  Bishop 
describes  in  language  of  Biblical  directness) — children 
who  cry  for  and  slobber  over  the  illuminated  capitals — • 
and  careless  or  slovenly  servants.  But  the  deadliest  of 
all  such  enemies  is  the  priest's  concubine,  who  finds  the 
neglected  volume  half-hidden  under  cobwebs,  and  barters 
it  for  female  finery.  There  is  an  obvious  element  of  ex- 
aggeration in  the  good  Bishop's  satire ;  but  the  Oxford 
Chancellor,  Gascoigne,  a  century  later,  speaks  equally 
strongly  of  the  neglect  of  writing  and  the  destruction 
of  literature  in  the  monasteries  of  his  time;  and  there 
is  abundant  official  evidence  to  prove  that  our  ancestors 
did  not  atone  for  natural  disadvantages  by  any  excessive 
zeal  in  the  multiplication,  use,  or  preservation  of  books,* 
Chaucer  was  scarcely  born  when  the  "  Philobiblon  " 
was  written  ;  and  already  in  his  day  there  was  a  growing 
number  of  leisured  laymen  who  did  know  the  top  end 
of  a  book  from  the  bottom,  and  who  cared  to  read  and 
write  something  beyond  money  accounts.  Gower,  who 
probably  made  money  as  a  London  merchant  before  he 
became  a  country  squire,  was  also  a  well-read  man  ;  but 
systematic  readers  were  still  very  rare  outside  the 
Universities,  and  Mrs,  Green  writes,  even  of  a  later 
generation  of  English  citizens,  "So  far  as  we  know,  no 
trader  or  burgher  possessed  a  library,"  f  Twenty-nine 
years  after  Chaucer's  death,  the  celebrated  Whittington 
did  indeed  found  a  library ;  yet  this  was  placed  not  at 

*  Cf,  the  present  writer's  "  From  St.  Francis  to  Dante,"  2nd  ed., 
pp.  6,  l6o,  167,  380,  where  proof  is  adduced  from  episcopal  registers  that 
even  large  and  rich  monasteries  had  often  no  scriptorium,  and  many 
monks  could  not  write  their  own  names. 

t  "  Town  Life,"  ii.,  84. 


ALDGATE   TOWER  101 

the  Guildhall,  to  which  he  was  a  considerable  benefactor, 
but  in  the  Greyfriars'  convent.  The  poet's  bookishness 
would  therefore  inevitably  have  made  him  something 
of  a  recluse,  and  we  have  no  reason  to  tax  his  own 
description  with  exaggeration. 

London  has  never  been  a  silent  city,  but  Chaucer 
enjoyed  at  least  one  of  the  quietest  spots  in  it.  If  (as 
we  have  every  reason  to  suppose)  the  Ordinance  of  1345 
was  far  from  putting  an  end  to  the  nuisances  which  it 
indicates,  then  Chaucer  must  have  heaved  a  sigh  of 
relief  when  he  had  seen  the  Custom-House  locked  up, 
and  turned  his  back  on  Spurrier  Lane.  The  Spurriers 
were  addicted  to  working  after  dark  for  nefarious  ends 
of  their  own;  "and  further,  many  of  the  said  trade  are 
wandering  about  all  day,  without  working  at  all  at  their 
trade ;  and  then,  when  they  have  become  drunk  and 
frantic,  they  take  to  their  work,  to  the  annoyance  of  the 
sick  and  of  all  their  neighbourhood,  as  well  as  by  reason 
of  the  broils  that  arise  between  them  and  the  strange 
folks  who  are  dwelling  among  them.  And  then  they 
blow  up  their  fires  so  vigorously,  that  their  forges  begin 
all  at  once  to  blaze,  to  the  great  peril  of  themselves  and 
of  all  the  neighbourhood  around.  And  then  too,  all  the 
neighbours  are  much  in  dread  of  the  sparks,  which  so 
vigorously  issue  forth  in  all  directions  from  the  mouths 
of  the  chimneys  in  their  forges."  *  We  may  trust  that 
no  such  offensive  handiwork  was  carried  on  round 
Aldgate,  whither  the  poet  would  arrive  about  five  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  sit  down  forthwith  to  supper,  as 
the  sun  began  to  slant  over  the  open  fields.  We  may 
hope,  at  least,  that  he  was  wont  to  sup  at  home  rather 
than  at  those  alluring  cook-shops  which  alternated  with 
wine-taverns  along  the  river  bank ;  and  that,  as  he 
"defyed  the  roast"  with  his  Gascon  wine,  Philippa 
sat  and  sipped  with  him  from  one  of  time-honoured 
Lancaster's   silver-gilt    cups.      Even   if  we   accept   the 

*  Riley,  p.  226.  Cf.  the  similar  complaint  of  a  poet  against  black- 
smiths in  "  Reliquite  Antiqufe,"  i.,  240. 


102  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

most  pessimistic  theories  of  Chaucer's  married  life,  we 
need  scarcely  doubt  that  the  pair  sat  often  together  at 
their  open  window  in  the  twilight — 

Both  of  one  mind,  as  married  people  use, 
Quietly,  quietly  the  evening  through. 

The  sun  goes  down,  a  common  greyness  silvers  every- 
thing; Epping  Forest  and  the  Hampstead  heights  stand 
dim  against  the  afterglow.  From  beneath  their  very 
windows  the  long  road  stretches  far  into  the  fading 
landscape ;  men  and  cattle  begin  to  straggle  citywards, 
first  slowly,  and  then  with  such  haste  as  their  weariness 
will  permit,  for  the  curfew  begins  to  ring  out  from  Bow 
steeple.*  Chaucer  himself  has  painted  this  twilight 
scene  in  "Troilus  and  Criseyde,"  written  during  this 
very  Aldgate  time.  The  hero  watches  all  day  long, 
with  his  friend  Pandarus,  at  one  of  the  gates  of  Troy, 
for  had  not  Criseyde  pledged  her  word  to  come  back  on 
that  day  at  latest  ?  Every  creature  crawling  along  the 
distant  roads  gives  the  lover  fresh  hopes  and  fresh 
heart-sickness  ;  but  it  is  sorest  of  all  when  the  evening 
shadows  leave  most  to  the  imagination — 

The  day  go'th  fast,  and  after  that  com'th  eve 

And  yet  came  not  to  Troilus  Criseyde. 

He  looketh  forth  by  hedge,  by  tree,  by  greve,  [grove 

And  far  his  head  over  the  wall  he  laid  .  .  . 

"  Have  here  my  truth,  I  see  her  !     Yond  she  is  ! 

Have  up  thine  eyen,  man  !     May'st  thou  not  see  ? " 

Pandarus  answered,  "  Nay,  so  mote  I  the  ! 

All  wrong,  by  God  !     What  say'st  thou,  man  ?     Where  art  ? 

That  I  see  yond  is  but  a  farii-cart." 

The  warden  of  the  gates  gan  to  call 

The  folk  which  that  without  the  gatiis  were, 

And  bade  them  driven  in  their  beastiis  all, 

Or  all  the  night  they  musten  blcven  there  ;  [remain 

And  far  within  the  night,  with  many  a  tear. 

This  Troilus  gan  homeward  for  to  ride, 

For  well  he  seeth  it  helpeth  nought  t'  abide. 

♦  Nominally,  the  great  gate  was  shut  at  the  hour  of  sunset,  and  only 
the  wicket-gate  left  open  till  curfew  ;  but  regulations  of  this  kind  were 
generally  interpreted  with  a  good  deal  of  laxity. 


ALDGATE   TOWER  103 

And  far  within  the  night,  while  the  "  uncunning  porters  " 
sing  over  their  liquor  or  snore  on  their  pallets,  Chaucer 
turns  and  returns  the  leaves  of  Virgil  or  Ovid,  of  Dante 
or  the  "  Romance  of  the  Rose."  Does  he  not  also,  to 
poor  Philippa's  disgust,  "laugh  full  fast"  to  himself 
sometimes  over  that  witty  and  ungallant  book  of  satires 
which  contains  "  of  wicked  wives  .  .  .  more  legendes 
and  lives  than  be  of  goode  wives  in  the  Bible  "  ?  It  is 
difficult  to  escape  from  this  conviction.  His  "Wife  of 
Bath  "  cites  the  treatises  in  question  too  fully  and  too 
well  to  make  it  probable  that  Chaucer  wrote  from  mere 
memory.  Remembering  this  probability,  and  the  prac- 
tical certainty  that,  like  his  contemporaries,  Chaucer 
needed  to  read  aloud  for  the  full  comprehension  of  what 
he  had  under  his  eyes,  we  shall  then  find  nothing 
unexpected  in  his  pretty  plain  allusions  to  reprisals. 
Sweet  as  honey  in  the  mouth,  his  books  proved  some- 
times bitter  in  the  belly,  like  that  of  the  Apocalypse. 
"  Late  to  bed  "  suits  ill  with  "  early  to  rise,"  and  the  poet 
hints  pretty  plainly  that  an  imperious  and  somewhat 
unsympathetic  "  Awake,  Geoffrey !  "  was  often  the  first 
word  he  heard  in  the  morning.  When  the  Golden 
Eagle  caught  the  sleeping  poet  up  to  heaven — 

At  the  last  to  me  he  spake 

In  mannes  voice,  and  said  "Awake  ! 

And  be  not  so  aghast,  for  shame  !  " 

And  called  me  then  by  my  name 

And,  for  I  should  the  better  abraid  [rouse 

Me  dreamed,  "Awake  !  "  to  me  he  said 

Right  in  the  same  voice  and  steven  [tone 

That  useth  one  I  coulde  neven  ;  [name 

And  with  that  voice,  sooth  for  to  say'n 

My  minde  came  to  me  again  ; 

For  it  was  goodly  said  to  me, 

So  it  was  never  wont  to  be. 

"  House  of  Fame,"  ii.,  47. 


CHAPTER    IX 

TOWN   AND   COUNTRY 

"  For  never  to  my  mind  was  evening  yet 
But  was  far  beautifuller  than  its  day." 

Browning 

"  Wherefore  is  the  sun  red  at  even  ?     For  he  goeth  toward  hell." 

("  The  Master  of  Oxford's  Catechism  "  (XV.  cent.)  ; 
"  Reliquiae  Antiqute,"  i.,  232.) 

THAT  which  in  Chaucer's  day  passed  for  rank 
"  sluggardy  a-night "  might  yet  be  very  early 
rising  by  the  modern  standard ;  and  our  poet,  sorely  as 
he  needed  Philippa's  shrill  alarum,  might  still  have 
deserved  the  character  given  to  Turner  by  one  who 
knew  his  ways  well,  "  that  he  had  seen  the  sun  rise 
oftener  than  all  the  rest  of  the  Academy  put  together." 
It  is  indeed  startling  to  note  how  sunrise  and  sunset 
have  changed  places  in  these  five  hundred  years.  When 
a  modern  artist  waxes  poetical  about  the  sunrise,  a  lady 
will  frankly  assure  him  that  it  is  the  saddest  sight  she 
has  ever  seen ;  to  her  it  spells  lassitude  and  reaction 
after  a  long  night's  dancing.  Chaucer  and  his  con- 
temporaries lived  more  in  Turner's  mood :  "  the  sun, 
my  dear,  that's  God!"  In  the  days  when  a  tallow 
candle  cost  four  times  its  weight  in  beefsteak,  when 
wax  was  mainly  reserved  for  God  and  His  saints,  and 
when  you  could  only  warm  your  hands  at  the  risk  of 
burning  your  boots  and  blearing  your  C3^es,  then  no 
man  could  forget  his  strict  dependence  on  the  King  of 
the  East.  The  poets  of  the  Middle  Ages  seem  to  have 
been,  in  general,  as  insensible  to  the  melancholy  beauties 


TOWN   AND   COUNTRY  105 

of  sunset  as  to  those  of  autumn.  Leslie  Stephen,  in  the 
first  chapters  of  his  "  Playground  of  Europe,"  has 
brought  a  wealth  of  illustration  and  penetrating  com- 
ment to  show  how  strictly  men's  ideas  of  the  picturesque 
are  limited  by  their  feelings  of  comfort ;  and  the  medieval 
mind  was  even  more  narrowly  confined  within  its  theo- 
logical limitations.  Popular  religion  was  then  too  often 
frankly  dualistic ;  to  many  men,  the  Devil  was  a  more 
insistent  reality  than  God ;  and  none  doubted  that  the 
former  had  special  power  over  the  wilder  side  of  nature. 
The  night,  the  mountain,  and  the  forest  were  notoriously 
haunted ;  and,  though  many  of  the  finest  monasteries 
were  built  in  the  wildest  scenery,  this  was  prompted 
not  by  love  of  nature  but  by  the  spirit  of  mortification. 
At  Siilte,  for  instance,  in  the  forest  of  Hildesheim,  the 
blessed  Godehard  built  his  monastery  beside  a  well  of 
brackish  water,  haunted  by  a  demon,  "who  oft-times 
affrighted  men,  women  and  maidens,  by  catching  them 
up  with  him  into  the  air."  The  sainted  Bishop  exorcised 
not  only  the  demon  but  the  salts,  so  that  "many  brewers 
brew  therefrom  most  excellent  beer  .  .  .  wherefore  the 
Burgermeister  and  Councillors  grant  yearly  to  our  con- 
vent a  hundred  measures  of  Michaelmas  malt,  three  of 
which  measures  are  equal  in  quantity  to  a  herring-barrel." 
What  appealed  to  the  founders  of  the  Chartreuse  or 
Tintern  was  not  the  beauty  of  "these  steep  woods  and 
lofty  cliffs,"  but  their  ascetic  solitude.  When,  by  the 
monks'  own  labours  and  those  of  their  servants,  the 
fields  had  become  fertile,  so  that  they  now  found  leisure 
to  listen  how  "  the  shady  valley  re-echoes  in  Spring 
with  the  sweet  songs  of  birds,"  then  they  felt  their  fore- 
fathers to  have  been  right  in  "  noting  fertile  and  pleasant 
places  as  a  hindrance  to  stronger  minds."*  After  all, 
the  earth  was  cursed  for  Adam's  sake,  and  even  its 
apparent  beauty  was  that  of  an  apple  of  Sodom. 
That  which  Walther  won  der  Vogelweide  sang  in  his 

*  Busch,  "Lib.  Ref.,"  p.  408;    Gilleberti  Abbatis,  "Tract.  Ascet.," 
VII.,  ii.,  §3. 


106      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

repentant    old    age    had     long    been    a    commonplace 
with  moralists — 

"  The  world  is  fair  to  gaze  on,  white  and  green  and  red, 
But  inly  foul  and  black  of  hue,  and  dismal  as  the  dead." 

Ruskin's  famous  passage  on  this  subject  ("  M.  P.,"  iii., 
14,  15)  is,  on  the  whole,  even  too  favourable  to  the 
Middle  Ages ;  but  he  fails  to  note  two  remarkable 
exceptions.  The  poet  of  "  Pearl,"  who  probably  knew 
Wales  well,  describes  the  mountains  with  real  pleasure  ; 
and  Gawin  Douglas  anticipated  Burns  by  venturing  to 
describe  winter  not  only  at  some  length  but  also  with 
apparent  sympathy.*  Moreover,  Douglas  describes  a 
sunset  in  its  different  stages  with  great  minuteness  of 
detail  and  the  most  evident  delight.  Dante  does  indeed 
once  trace  in  far  briefer  words  the  fading  of  daylight 
from  the  sky;  but  in  his  two  unapproachable  sunsets 
he  turns  our  eyes  eastwards  rather  than  westwards,  as 
we  listen  to  the  vesper  bell,  or  think  of  the  last  quiet 
rays  lingering  on  Virgil's  tomb.f  The  scenic  splendour 
of  a  wild  twilight  seems  hardly  to  have  touched  him  ; 
his  soul  turns  to  rest  here,  while  the  hardy  Scot  is  still 
abroad  to  watch  the  broken  storm-clouds  and  the  after- 
glow. And  if  Douglas  thus  outranges  even  Dante,  he 
leaves  Chaucer  and  Boccaccio  far  behind.  The  fresh- 
ness and  variety  of  the  sunrises  in  the  "Decameron" 
is  equalled  only  by  the  bald  brevity  with  which  the 
author  despatches  eventide,  which  he  connects  mainly 
with  supper,  a  little  dancing  or  music,  and  bed.  It 
would  be  equally  impossible,  I  believe,  to  find  a  real 
sunset  in  Chaucer;  Criseyde's  "  Ywis,  it  will  be  night 
as  fast,"  is  quite  a  characteristic  epitaph  for  the  dying 
day. 

On  the  other  hand,  however,  the  medieval  sunrise 
is  delightful  in  its  sincerity  and  variety,  even  under  the 
disadvantage  of  constant   conventional  repetition;  and 

*  See  Oskar  Dolch,  "The  Love  of  Nature  in  Early  English  Poetry  ;" 
Dresden,  1882. 

t  "Purg.,"  xxvi.,  4  ;  viii.,  i  ;  iii.,  25  ;  cf.  xvii.,  8,  12. 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  107 

here  Chaucer  is  at  his  best.  He  may  well  have  been 
too  bookish  to  please  either  his  neighbours  or  her  whom 
Richard  de  Bury  calls  "  a  two-footed  beast,  more  to  be 
shunned  (as  we  have  ever  taught  our  disciples)  than  the 
asp  and  the  basilisk,"  yet  no  poet  was  ever  farther 
removed  from  the  bookworm.  Art  he  loved,  but  only 
next  to  Nature — 

On  bookes  for  to  read  I  me  delight, 

And  to  them  give  I  faith  and  full  credence, 

And  in  mine  heart  have  them  in  reverence 

So  heartily,  that  there  is  game  none 

That  from  my  bookes  maketh  me  to  go'n 

But  it  be  seldom  on  the  holyday  ; 

Save,  certainly,  when  that  the  month  of  May 

Is  comen,  and  that  I  hear  the  fowles  sing, 

And  that  the  flowers  'ginnen  for  to  spring, 

Farewell  my  book  and  my  devotion  !  * 

Not  only  was  the  May-day  haunt  of  Bishop's  wood 
within  a  mile's  walk  of  Aldgate ;  but  behind,  almost 
under  his  eyes,  stood  the  "Great  Shaft  of  Cornhill,"  the 
tallest  of  all  the  city  maypoles,  which  was  yearly  reared 
at  the  junction  of  Leadenhall  Street,  Lime  Street,  and 
St.  Mary  Axe,  and  which  gave  its  name  to  the  church 
of  St.  Andrew  Undershaft,  whose  steeple  it  overtopped. 
How  it  hung  all  year  under  the  pentices  of  a  neigh- 
bouring row  of  houses  until  the  Reformation,  and 
what  happened  to  it  then,  the  reader  must  find  in  the 
pages  of  Stow.t  These  May-day  festivities,  which  out- 
did even  the  Midsummer  bonfires  and  the  Christmas 
mummings  in  popularity,  were  a  Christianized  survival 
of  ancient  Nature-worship.  When  we  remember  the 
cold,  the  smoke,  the  crowding  and  general  discomfort 
of  winter  days  and  nights  in  those  picturesque  timber 
houses ;  when  we  consider  that  even  in  castles  and 
manor-houses  men's  lives  differed  from  this  less  in 
quality  than  in  degree ;  when  we  try  to  imagine 
especially  the  monotony  of  woman's   life  under  these 

*  "  Legend  of  Good  Women,"  Prol.,  30  ff. 
t  "  Survey,"  ed.  Morley,  1893,  p.  163. 


108  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

conditions,  doubly  bound  as  she  was  to  the  housework 
and  to  the  eternal  spinning-wheel  or  embroidery-frame, 
with  scarcely  any  interruptions  but  the  morning  Mass 
and  gossip  with  a  few  neighbours — only  then  can  we 
even  dimly  realize  what  spring  and  May-day  meant. 
There  was  no  chance  of  forgetting,  in  those  days,  how 
directly  the  brown  earth  is  our  foster-mother.  Men 
who  had  fed  on  salt  meat  for  three  or  four  months, 
while  even  the  narrow  choice  of  autumn  vegetables  had 
long  failed  almost  altogether,  and  a  few  shrivelled  apples 
were  alone  left  of  last  year's  fruit — in  that  position,  men 
watched  the  first  green  buds  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
convalescent ;  and  the  riot  out  of  doors  was  propor- 
tionate to  the  constraint  of  home  life.  Those  antiquaries 
have  recorded  only  half  the  truth  who  wrote  regretfully 
of  these  dying  sports  under  the  growing  severity  of 
Puritanism,  and  they  forgot  that  Puritanism  itself  was  a 
too  successful  attempt  to  realize  a  thoroughly  medieval 
ideal.  Fenelon  broke  with  a  tradition  of  at  least  four 
centuries  when  he  protested  against  the  repression  of 
country  dances  in  the  so-called  interests  of  religion.* 
It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  single  great  preacher  or 
moralist  of  the  later  Middle  Ages  who  has  a  frank  word 
to  say  in  favour  of  popular  dances  and  similar  public 
merry-makings.  Even  the  parish  clergy  took  part  in 
them  only  by  disobeying  the  decrees  of  synods  and 
councils,  which  they  disregarded  just  as  they  disre- 
garded similar  attempts  to  regulate  their  dress,  their 
earnings,  and  their  relations  with  women.  Much  excuse 
can  indeed  be  found  for  this  intolerance  in  the  rough- 
ness and  licence  of  medieval  popular  revels.  Not  only 
the  Church,  but  even  the  civic  authorities  found  them- 
selves obliged  to  regulate  the  disorders  common  at 
London  weddings,  while  Italian  town  councils  attempted 
to  put  down  the  practice  of  throwing  on  these  occasions 

♦  "  Monsieur  le  cur<5,  .  .  .  ne  dansons  pas  ;  mais  pcrmettons  ;\  ces 
pauvres  gens  de  danser.  Pourqoui  Ics  empccher  d'oublicr  un  moment 
qu'ils  sont  malheurcux  ?  " 


TOWN   AND   COUNTRY  109 

snow,  sawdust,  and  street-sweepings,  which  sometimes 
did  duty  for  the  modern  rice  and  old  shoes;  and  members 
of  the  Third  Order  of  St.  Francis  were  strictly  for- 
bidden to  attend  either  weddings  or  dances.*  These 
and  other  similar  considerations,  which  the  reader  will 
supply  for  himself,  explain  the  otherwise  inexplicable 
severity  of  all  rules  for  female  deportment  in  the 
streets.  "  If  any  man  speak  to  thee,"  writes  the  Good 
Wife  for  her  Daughter,  "swiftly  thou  him  greet;  let 
him  go  by  the  way  " ;  and  again — 

"  Go  not  to  the  wrestling,  nor  to  shooting  at  the  cock 
As  it  were  a  strumpet,  or  a  giggelot, 
Stay  at  home,  daughter." 

"When  thou  goest  into  town  or  to  church,"  says  the 
author  of  the  "  Menagier  de  Paris  "  to  his  young  wife, 
"walk  with  thine  head  high,  thine  eyelids  lowered  and 
fixed  on  the  ground  at  four  fathoms  distance  straight  in 
front  of  thee,  without  looking  or  glancing  sideways  at 
either  man  or  woman  to  the  right  hand  or  the  left,  nor 
looking  upwards."  Even  Chaucer  tells  us  of  his 
Virginia — 

She  hath  full  oftentimes  sick  her  feigned, 
For  that  she  woulde  flee  the  companye 
Where  likely  was  to  treaten  of  follye — 
As  is  at  feastes,  revels,  and  at  dances, 
That  be  occasions  of  dalliances.f 

These,  of  course,  were  exaggerations  bred  of  a 
general  roughness  beyond  all  modern  experience.  Even 
Christmas  mumming  was  treated  as  an  objectionable 
practice  in  London  ;  as  early  as  1370  we  find  the  first  of 
a  series  of  Christmastide  proclamations  "that  no  one 
shall  go  in  the  streets  of  the  city,  or  suburbs  thereof, 
with  visor  or  mask  .  .  .  under  penalty  of  imprisonment." 
Similarly    severe    measures    were    threatened    against 

*  Riley,  571.  I  have  dealt  fully  with  this  subject  in  my  "  Medieval 
Studies,"  Nos.  3  and  4. 

t  "Babees  Book,"  E.E.T.S.,  p.  40;  "  Mdnagier  de  Paris,"  i.,  15; 
"C.  T.,"  C,  62. 


110  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

football  in  the  streets,  against  the  game  of  "taking  off 


the   hoods  of  people,  or  laying  hands  on  them,"  and 


TOWN  AND   COUNTRY  111 

against  "hocking"  or  extorting  violent  contributions 
from  passers-by  on  the  third  Monday  or  Tuesday  after 
Easter.  But  the  very  frequency  of  the  prohibitions  is 
suggestive  of  their  inefficiency;  and  in  1418  the  City 
authorities  were  still  despairingly  "charging  on  the 
King's  behalf  and  his  City,  that  no  man  or  person  .  .  . 
during  this  holy  time  of  Christmas  be  so  hardy  in  any 
wise  to  walk  by  night  in  any  manner  mumming  plays, 
interludes,  or  any  other  disguisings  with  any  feigned 
beards,  painted  visors,  deformed  or  coloured  visages  in 
any  wise,  upon  pain  of  imprisonment  of  their  bodies 
and  making  fine  after  the  discretion  of  the  Mayor  and 
Aldermen."*  Much  of  this  mumming  was  not  only 
pagan  in  its  origin  but  still  in  its  essence  definitely 
anti-ecclesiastical.  When,  as  was  constantly  the  case, 
the  clergy  joined  in  the  revels,  this  was  a  more  or  less 
conscious  protest  against  the  Puritan  and  ascetic  ideal 
of  their  profession.  The  rule  of  life  for  Benedictine 
nuns,  to  which  even  the  Poor  Clares  were  subjected 
after  a  very  brief  career  of  more  apostolic  liberty,  cannot 
be  read  in  modern  times  without  a  shudder  of  pity. 
Not  only  did  the  authorities  attempt  to  suppress  all 
natural  enjoyment  of  life — even  Madame  Eglantyne's 
lapdogs  were  definitely  contraband — but  the  girls  were 
trammelled  at  every  turn  with  the  minutely  ingenious 
and  degrading  precautions  of  an  oriental  harem.  That 
was  the  theory,  the  ideal;  yet  in  fact  these  convent 
churches  provided  a  common  theatre,  if  not  the  com- 
monest, for  the  riotous  and  often  obscene  licence  of  the 
Feast  of  Fools.  To  understand  the  wilder  side  of 
medieval  life,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  bear  in  mind 
the  pitiless  and  unreal  "  other-worldliness  "  of  the  ascetic 
ideal ;  just  as  we  can  best  explain  certain  of  Chaucer's 
least  edifying  tales  by  referring,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
the  almost  idolatrous  exaggerations  of  his  "A.B.C." 

*  Sharpe's  "  Letter  Book"  G.,  pp.  274,  303  ;  Riley,  pp.  269,  534,  561, 
571,669.  In  the  country,  "  hocking  "  was  often  resorted  to  for  raising 
church  funds.  See  Sir  John  Phear's  "  Molland  Accounts"  (Devonshire 
Assn.,  1903),  pp.  198  fif. 


112  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

But,  however  he  may  have  revelled  with  the  rest  in 
his  wilder  youth,  the  elvish  and  retiring  poet  of  the 
"Canterbury  Tales"  mentions  the  sports  of  the  towns- 
folk only  with  gentle  irony.  "  Merry  Absolon,"  the 
parish  clerk,  who  played  so  prominent  a  part  in  street 
plays,  who  could  dance  so  well  "after  the  school  of 
Oxenford  .  .  .  and  with  his  legges  casten  to  and  fro," 
and  who  was  at  all  points  such  a  perfect  beau  of  the 
'prentice  class  to  which  he  essentially  belonged — all 
these  small  perfections  are  enumerated  only  that  we 
may  plumb  more  accurately  the  depths  to  which  he  is 
brought  by  woman's  guile.  The  May-dance  was  pro- 
bably as  external  to  Chaucer  as  the  Florentine  carnival 
to  Browning.  While  a  thousand  Absolons  were  casting 
to  and  fro  with  their  legs,  in  company  with  a  thou- 
sand like-minded  giggelots,  around  the  Great  Shaft  of 
Cornhill,  Chaucer  had  slipped  out  into  the  country. 
Many  other  townsfolk  came  out  into  the  fields — young 
men  and  maidens,  old  men  and  children — but  Chaucer 
tells  us  how  he  knelt  by  himself,  worshipping  the  daisy 
as  it  opened  to  the  sun — 

Upon  the  smallci  softe  sweete  grass, 

That  was  with  flowres  sweet  embroidered  all. 

At  another  time  we  listen  with  him  to  the  leaves 
rustling  in  undertone  with  the  birds — 

A  wind,  so  small  it  scarcely  might  be  less, 
Made  in  the  leaves  green  a  noise  soft, 
Accordant  to  the  fowliis'  song  aloft. 

Or  watch  the  queen  of  flowers  blushing  in  the  sun — 

Right  as  the  freshc,  reddii  rosii  new 
Against  the  Summer  sunnii  coloured  is  ! 

But  for  the  daisy  he  has  a  love  so  tender,  so  intimate, 
that  it  is  difficult  not  to  suspect  under  the  flower  some 
unknown  Marguerite  of  flesh  and  blood — 

...  of  all  the  flowers  in  the  mead 

Then  love  I  most  these  tlowers  white  and  red 


TOWN   AND   COUNTRY  113 

Such  as  men  callen  daisies  in  our  town. 

To  them  I  have  so  great  afifectioun, 

As  I  said  erst,  when  comen  is  the  May, 

That  in  my  bed  there  dawneth  me  no  day 

But  I  am  up  and  walking  in  the  mead. 

To  see  this  flower  against  the  sunne  spread  ;  .  .  . 

As  she  that  is  of  alle  flowers  flower, 

FulfillM  of  all  virtue  and  honour, 

And  ever  y-like  fair  and  fresh  of  hue. 

And  I  love  it,  and  ever  y-like  new, 

And  ever  shall,  till  that  mine  hearte  die.  .  .  . 

I  fell  asleep  ;  within  an  hour  or  two 
Me  dreamed  how  I  lay  in  the  meadow  tho  [then 

To  see  this  flower  that  I  love  so  and  dread  ; 
And  from  afar  came  walking  in  the  mead 
The  God  of  Love,  and  in  his  hand  a  Queen, 
And  she  was  clad  in  royal  habit  green  ; 
A  fret  of  gold  she  hadde  next  her  hair, 
And  upon  that  a  white  crown  she  bare 
With  fleurons  smalle,  and  I  shall  not  lie, 
For  all  the  world  right  as  a  daysye 
Y-crowned  is  with  white  leaves  lite, 
So  were  the  fleurons  of  her  coroune  white  ; 
For  of  one  pearle,  fine,  oriental 
Her  white  coroune  was  y-maked  all. 

Pictures  like  these,  in  their  directness  and  simplicity, 
show  more  loving  nature-knowledge  than  pages  of 
word-painting;  and,  if  they  are  not  only  essentially 
decorative  but  even  somewhat  conventional,  those  are 
qualities  almost  inseparable  from  the  art  of  the  time. 
It  is  less  strange  that  Chaucer's  sunrises  should  bear  a 
certain  resemblance  to  other  sunrises,  than  that  his  men 
and  women  should  be  so  strikingly  individual.  Yet, 
even  so,  compare  two  or  three  of  his  sunrises  together, 
and  see  how  great  is  their  variety  in  uniformity.  Take, 
for  instance,  "Canterbury  Tales,"  A.,  1491,  2209,  and  F., 
360;  or,  again,  A.,  1033  and  "Book  of  Duchess,"  291, 
where  Chaucer  describes  nature  and  art  in  one  breath, 
and  each  heightens  the  effect  of  the  other.  With  all  his 
love  of  palaces  and  walled  gardens,  though  he  revels  in 
feudal  magnificence  and  glow  of  colour  and  elaboration 
of  form,  he  is  already  thoroughly  modern  in  his  love  of 


114  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

common  things.*  Here  he  has  no  equal  until  Words- 
worth ;  it  has  been  truly  remarked  that  he  is  one  of  the 
few  poets  whom  Wordsworth  constantly  studied,  and 
one  of  the  very  few  to  whom  he  felt  and  confessed 
inferiority.  Chaucer's  triumph  of  artistic  simplicity  is 
the  Nun's  Priest's  tale.  The  old  woman,  her  daughter, 
their  smoky  cottage  and  tiny  garden ;  the  hens  bathing 
in  the  dust  while  their  lord  and  master  preens  himself 
in  the  sun ;  the  commotion  when  the  fox  runs  away 
with  Chanticleer — all  these  things  are  described  in  truly 
Virgilian  sympathy  with  modest  country  life.  What 
poet  before  him  has  made  us  feel  how  glorious  a  part  of 
God's  creation  is  even  a  barn-door  cock  ? 

His  voice  was  merrier  than  the  merry  orgon 
On  masse-days  that  in  the  churche  go'n  ... 
His  comb  was  redder  than  the  fine  coral, 
Embattled  as  it  were  a  castle  wall ; 
His  bill  was  black,  and  like  the  jet  it  shone, 
Like  azure  were  his  legges  and  his  toen  ; 
His  nailes  whiter  than  the  lily  flower, 
And  like  the  burnished  gold  was  his  colour  ! 

Nothing  but  Chaucer's  directness  of  observation  and 
truth  of  colouring  could  have  kept  his  work  as  fresh  as 
it  is.  Like  Memling  and  the  Van  Eycks,  he  has  all  the 
reverence  of  the  centuries  with  all  the  gloss  of  youth. 
The  peculiar  charm  of  medieval  art  is  its  youthfulness 
and  freshness ;  and  no  poet  is  richer  in  those  qualities 
than  he. 

In  this,  of  course,  he  reflects  his  environment. 
Although  London  was  already  becoming  in  a  manner 
cockneyfied;  although  she  already  imported  sea-coal 
from  Newcastle,  and  her  purveyors  scoured  half 
England  for  food,  and  her  cattle  sometimes  came  from 
as  far  as  Nottingham,  and  most  of  her  bread  was  baked 
at  Stratford,  yet  she  still  bore  many  traces  of  the 
ruralism  which  so   astonishes   the   modern  student   in 

*  Cf.  "C.  T.,"  E.,  2029;  F.,  908;  "Pari.  Foules,"  121.  For  his 
personal  love  of  trees,  etc.,  see  "  C.  T.,"  A.,  2920;  "Pari.  Foules,"  175, 
201,  442. 


TOWN   AND   COUNTRY  115 

medieval  city  life.  Even  towns  like  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  were  rather  collections  of  agriculturalists 
co-operating  for  trade  and  protection  than  a  con- 
glomeration of  citizens  in  the  modern  sense;  and  the 
University  Long  Vacation  is  a  survival  from  the  days 
when  students  helped  in  the  hay  and  corn  harvests. 
And,  greatly  as  London  was  already  congested  in  com- 
parison with  other  English  cities,  there  was  as  yet  no 
real  divorce  between  town  and  country.  Her  popula- 
tion of  about  40,000  was  nearly  four  times  as  great  as 
that  of  any  other  city  in  the  kingdom ;  but,  even  in  the 
most  crowded  quarters,  the  mass  of  buildings  was  not 
yet  sufficient  to  disguise  the  natural  features  of  the 
site.  The  streets  mounted  visibly  from  the  river  and 
Fleet  Brook  to  the  centre  of  the  city.  St.  Paul's  was 
plainly  set  on  a  hill,  and  nobody  could  fail  to  see  the 
slope  from  the  village  of  Holborn  down  the  present 
Gray's  Inn  Lane,  up  which  (it  has  lately  been  argued) 
Boadicea's  chariot  once  led  the  charge  against  the 
Roman  legions.  Thames,  though  even  the  medieval 
palate  found  its  water  drinkable  only  "in  parts,"  still 
ran  at  low  tide  over  native  shingle  and  mud  ;  the  South- 
wark  shore  was  green  with  trees ;  not  only  monasteries 
but  often  private  houses  had  their  gardens,  and  sur- 
viving records  mention  fruit  trees  as  a  matter  of  course.* 
Outside,  there  was  just  a  sprinkling  of  houses  for  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  beyond  each  gate,  and  then  an 
ordinary  English  rural  landscape,  rather  wild  and 
wooded,  indeed,  for  modern  England,  but  dotted  with 
villages  and  church  towers.  Knightsbridge,  in  those 
days,  was  a  distant  suburb  to  which  most  of  the 
slaughter-houses  were  banished;  and  the  districts  of 
St.  James  and  St.  Giles,  so  different  in  their  later  social 
conditions,  both  sprang  up  round  leper  hospitals  in 
open  country.  Fitzstephen,  writing  in  the  days  of 
Henry  II,,  describes  Westminster  as  two  miles  from 
the  walls,  "  but  yet  conjoined  with  a  continuous  suburb. 
*  Cf.  Riley,  pp.  7,  116,  228,  280,  382,  487,  498. 


116  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

On  all  sides,"  he  continues,  "without  the  houses  of  the 
suburb,  are  the  citizens'  gardens  and  orchards,  planted 
with  trees,  both  large,  sightly,  and  adjoining  together. 
On  the  north  side  are  pastures  and  plain  meadows, 
with  brooks  running  through  them  turning  watermills 
with  a  pleasant  noise.  Not  far  off  is  a  great  forest,  a 
well-wooded  chase,  having  good  covert  for  harts, 
bucks,  does,  boars,  and  wild  bulls.  The  cornfields  are 
not  of  a  hungry  sandy  mould,  but  as  the  fruitful  fields 
of  Asia,  yielding  plentiful  increase  and  filling  the  barns 
with  corn.  There  are  near  London,  on  the  north  side, 
especial  wells  in  the  suburbs,  sweet,  wholesome,  and 
clear.  Amongst  which  Holy  Well,  Clerkenwell,  and 
St.  Clement's  Well  are  most  famous,  and  most  fre- 
quented by  scholars  and  youths  of  the  city  in  summer 
evenings,  when  they  walk  forth  to  take  the  air."  No 
doubt  in  Chaucer's  time  the  suburbs  had  grown  a  little, 
but  not  much ;  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  population 
of  England  was  greater  in  1400  than  in  1200  a. d.  East- 
ward from  his  Aldgate  lodgings  the  eye  stretched  over 
the  woody  flats  bordering  the  Thames.  Northwards, 
beyond  the  Bishop's  Wood  in  Stepney  parish  and  the 
fen  which  stretched  up  the  Lea  valley  to  Tottenham, 
rose  the  "Great  Forest  "of  Epping.  In  a  more  westerly 
direction  Chaucer  might  have  seen  a  corner  of  the  moor 
which  gave  its  name  to  one  of  the  London  gates,  and 
which  too  often  became  a  dreary  swamp  for  lack  of 
drainage  ;  and,  above  and  beyond,  the  heaths  of  Highgate 
and  Hampstead.  Riley's  "  Memorials  "  contain  frequent 
mention  of  gardens  outside  the  gates;  it  was  one  of 
these,  "a  little  herber  *  that  I  have,"  in  which  Chaucer 
laid  the  scene  of  his  "  Legend  of  Good  Women."  These 
gardens  seem  to  have  made  a  fairly  continuous  circle 
round  the  walls.  The  richest  were  towards  the  west, 
and  made  an  unbroken  strip  of  embroidery  from 
Ludgatc  to  Westminster.  Nearer  home,  however, 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and  Saffron  Hill,  and  Vine  Street, 

*  "  Herbarium,"  green  and  shady  spot. 


TOWN   AND   COUNTRY  117 

Holborn,  carry  us  back  to  the  Earl  of  Lincoln's  twenty 
carefully-tilled  acres  of  herbs,  roses,  and  orchard-land, 
or  to  the  still  more  elaborate  paradise  belonging  to  the 
Bishop  and  monks  of  Ely,  whose  vineyard  and  rosary 
and  fields  of  saffron-crocus  stretched  down  the  slopes 
of  that  pleasant  little  Old-bourn  which  trickled  into 
Fleet  Brook.*  Holborn  was  then  simply  the  nearest 
and  most  suburban  of  a  constellation  of  villages  which 
clustered  round  the  great  city;  and,  if  the  reader  would 
picture  to  himself  the  open  country  beyond,  let  him 
take  for  his  text  that  sentence  in  which  Becket's  chaplain 
enumerates  the  rights  of  chase  enjoyed  by  the  city. 
"  Many  citizens,"  writes  Fitzstephen,  "  do  delight  them- 
selves in  hawks  and  hounds ;  for  they  have  liberty  of 
hunting  in  Middlesex,  Hertfordshire,  all  Chiltern,  and 
in  Kent  to  the  water  of  Cray."  The  city  huntsman 
was,  in  those  days,  a  salaried  official  of  some  dignity. 

So  Chaucer,  who  had  at  one  gate  of  his  house  the 
great  city,  was  on  the  other  side  free  of  such  green 
English  fields  and  lanes  as  have  inspired  a  company 
of  nature-poets  unsurpassed  in  any  language.  May  we 
not  hope  that  his  companions  in  the  "little  herber,"  or 
on  his  wider  excursions,  were  sometimes  "  the  moral 
Gower"  or  "the  philosophical  Strode?"  And  may  we 
not  picture  them  dining  in  some  country  inn,  like  Izaak 
Walton  and  his  contemplative  fellow-citizens?  Chaucer's 
friend  was  probably  the  Ralph  Strode  of  Merton 
College,  a  distinguished  philosopher  and  anti-Wycliffite 
controversialist;  and  it  is  noteworthy  that  a  Ralph 
Strode  was  also  a  lawyer  and  Common  Serjeant  to  the 
city,  where  he  frequently  acted  as  public  prosecutor, 
and  that  he  received  for  his  services  a  grant  of  the 
house  over  Aldersgate  in  the  year  after  Chaucer  had 
entered  into  Aldgate.f  There  is  no  obvious  reason  to 
dissociate  the  city  lawyer  from  the  Oxford  scholar,  who 
has  also  been  suggested  with  some  probability  as  the 

*  Matthew  Browne's  "  Chaucer's  England,"  vol.  ii.,  pp.  248,  252. 
t  Riley,  388,  a.nd  passim. 


118      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

author  of"  Pearl"  and  other  14th-century  poems  second 
only  to  Chaucer's.  However  that  may  be,  "the  philo- 
sophical Strode  "  must  unquestionably  have  influenced 
the  poet  who  dedicated  to  him  his  "Troilus,"  and  we 
may  read  an  echo  of  their  converse  in  Chaucer's  own 
reflections  at  the  end  of  that  poem  on  Love  and 
Thereafter — 

O  younge  freshe  folkes,  he  or  she, 
In  which  that  love  upgroweth  with  your  age, 
Repair  ye  home  from  worldly  vanitie, 
And  of  your  heart  upcast  ye  the  visage 
To  that  same  God  that  after  His  image 
You  made  ;  and  think  that  all  is  but  a  fair, 
This  world,  that  passeth  soon  as  flowers  fair. 

But  we  are  wandering,  perhaps,  too  far  into  the 
realm  of  mere  suppositions.  With  or  without  philo- 
sophical converse  in  the  fields,  the  long  day  wanes  at 
last ;  and  now — 

When  that  the  sun  out  of  the  south  'gan  west 
And  that  this  flower  'gan  close,  and  go  to  rest, 
For  darkness  of  the  night,  the  which  she  dread, 
Home  to  mine  house  full  swiftly  I  me  sped 
To  go  to  rest,  and  early  for  to  rise. 

The  curfew  is  ringing  again  from  Bow  Steeple  ;  the 
throng  of  citizens  grows  thicker  as  they  near  the  gates; 
inside,  the  street  echoes  still  with  the  laughter  of 
apprentices  and  maids,  while  sounds  of  still  more 
uproarious  revelry  come  from  the  wide  tavern  doors. 
Soon,  however,  in  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  streets  will 
be  empty  ;  the  drinkers  will  huddle  with  closed  doors 
round  the  embers  in  the  hall ;  and  our  poet,  as  he  lays 
his  head  on  the  pillow,  may  well  repeat  to  himself  those 
words  of  Fitzstephen,  which  he  must  surely  have  read  : 
"The  only  pests  of  London  are  the  immoderate  drink- 
ing of  fools,  and  the  frequency  of  fires." 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON 

"  Del  un  Marchant  au  jour  present 
L'en  parle  molt  communement, 
II  ad  noun  Triche  plain  de  guile, 
Qe  pour  sercher  del  orient 
Jusques  au  fin  del  Occident, 
N'y  ad  cite  ne  bonne  vile 
U  Triche  son  avoir  ne  pile. 
Triche  en  Bourdeaux,  Triche  en  Civile, 
Triche  en  Paris  achat  et  vent ; 
Triche  ad  ses  niefs  et  sa  famile, 
Et  du  richesce  plus  nobile 
Triche  ad  disz  foitz  plus  q'autre  gent. 

Triche  a  Florence  et  a  Venise 
Ad  son  recet  et  sa  franchise, 
Si  ad  a  Brugges  et  a  Gant  ; 
A  son  agard  auci  s'est  mise 
La  noble  C\t6  sur  Tamise, 
La  quelle  Brutus  fuist  fondant ; 
Mais  Triche  la  vait  confondant." 

GOWER,  "  Mirour,"  25273  fif 

BUT  the  picturesque  side  of  things  was  only  the 
smaller  half  of  Chaucer's  life,  as  it  is  of  ours.  We 
must  not  be  more  royalist  than  the  King,  or  claim  more 
for  Chaucer  and  his  England  than  he  himself  would  ever 
have  dreamed  ot  claiming.  That  which  seems  most 
beautiful  and  romantic  to  us  was  not  necessarily  so  five 
hundred  years  ago.  The  literature  of  Chivalry,  for 
instance,  seems  to  have  touched  Chaucer  comparatively 
little  :  he  scarcely  mentions  it  but  in  more  or  less  open 
derision.  Again,  while  Ruskin  and  William  Morris 
seem  at  times  almost  tempted  to  wish  themselves  back 
to  the  14th  century  for  the  sake  of  its  Gothic  archi- 
tecture,   Chaucer    in    his    retrospective    mood    is    not 


120  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

ashamed  to  yearn  for  a  Golden  Age  as  yet  uncorrupted 
by  architects  of  any  description  whatever — 

No  trumptis  for  the  warres  folk  ne  knew, 
Nor  towers  high  and  walles  round  or  square  .   .   . 
Yet  were  no  palace  chambers,  nor  no  halls  ; 
In  caves  and  in  woodes  soft  and  sweet 
Slepten  this  blessed  folk  withouten  walls.* 

No  doubt  he  would  as  little  have  chosen  seriously  to  go 
back  to  hips  and  haws  as  Morris  would  seriously  have 
wished  to  live  in  the  Middle  Ages.  But  his  words  may 
warn  us  against  over-estimating  the  picturesque  side  of 
his  age.  The  most  important  is  commonly  what  goes 
on  under  the  surface ;  and  this  was  eminently  true  of 
Chaucer's  native  London.  When  we  look  closely  into 
the  social  and  political  ideals  of  those  motley  figures 
which  thronged  the  streets,  we  may  see  there  our  own 
modern  liberties  in  the  making,  and  note  once  more  how 
slowly,  yet  how  surely,  the  mills  of  God  grind.  It  was 
once  as  hard  for  a  community  of  a  few  thousand  souls 
to  govern  itself  as  it  is  now  for  a  nation;  and  parts  of 
what  seem  to  us  the  very  foundations  of  civilized  society 
were  formerly  as  uncertain  and  tentative  as  Imperial 
P^deration  or  the  International  Peace  Congress. 

The  ordinary  English  town  after  the  Conquest  was 
originally  simply  part  of  a  feudal  estate  :  a  rather  denser 
aggregation  than  the  ordinary  village,  and  therefore 
rather  more  conscious  of  solidarity  and  power.  The 
householders,  by  dint  of  holding  more  and  more  to- 
gether, became  increasingly  capable  of  driving  collective 
bargains,  and  of  concentrating  their  numerical  force  upon 
any  point  at  issue.  They  thus  throve  better  than  the 
isolated  peasant  ;  and  their  growing  prosperity  made 
them  able  to  pay  heavier  dues  to  their  feudal  lords,  who 
thus  saw  a  prospect  of  immediate  pecuniary  gain  in  sell- 
ing fresh  liberties  to  the  citizens.  This  process,  which 
was  still  in  its  earlier  stages  in  many  towns  during 
Chaucer's  lifetime,  was,  however,  already  far  advanced  in 
*  "  Aetas  Prima,"  1.  23  ff. 


THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON  121 

London,  which  claimed  over  other  cities  a  superiority 
symbolized  by  the  legend  of  its  origin  :  Brut,  the  son  of 
iEneas,  had  founded  it,  and  named  it  Troynovant,  or 
New  Troy.  But  the  city  had  far  more  tangible  claims 
to  supremacy  than  this :  it  had  obtained  from  Henry  I. 
— earlier  by  nearly  a  century  than  any  other — the  right 
of  electing  its  own  sheriff  and  justiciar ;  and  from  a  still 
earlier  time  than  this  it  had  been  almost  as  important 
politically  as  it  is  now.  Mr.  Loftie,  whose  "  London  "  in 
the  "Historic  Towns"  series  gives  so  clear  a  view  of 
its  political  development,  shows  us  the  city  holding  out 
against  Canute  long  after  the  rest  of  the  kingdom  had 
been  conquered ;  and  making,  even  after  Hastings,  such 
terms  with  the  Conqueror  as  secured  to  the  citizens 
their  traditional  liberties.  Even  thus  early,  the  city 
fully  exemplified  the  dignity  and  enduring  power  of 
commerce  and  industry  in  an  age  of  undisguised  physical 
force.  Its  foreign  trade  was  considerable,  and  foreign 
settlers  numerous.  "Already  there  was  trade  with  the 
Rhine  and  the  Zuyder  Zee  ;  and  Norman  ships,  so  far 
back  as  the  days  of  iEthelred  and  even  of  his  father,  had 
brought  the  wines  of  the  south  to  London.  The  [Ger- 
man] emperor's  men  had  already  established  their  stafel- 
hof,  or  steelyard,  and  traded  under  jealous  rules  and 
almost  monastic  discipline,  but  with  such  money  that  to 
this  day  'sterling'  stands  beside  'real'  as  an  adjective, 
for  the  Royal  credit  was  not  better  than  that  of  the  East- 
erling.  Some  Germans  and  Danes  who  did  not  belong 
to  the  'Gildhalda  Theutonicorum,'  as  it  was  called  in 
the  13th  century,  settled  in  the  city  beside  the  Normans 
of  the  Conquest,  the  Frenchmen  mentioned  in  the  char- 
ter, and  the  old  English  stock  of  law-worthy  citizens."  * 
The  example  of  generosity  set  by  William  was 
followed  more  or  less  closely  by  all  his  successors 
except  Matilda,  who  offended  the  citizens  by  suppress- 
ing their  chief  liberties,  and  owed  her  final  failure 
mainly  to  the  steady  support  which  they  therefore  gave 

*  Loftie,  p.  26. 


122  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

to  Stephen.  The  prosperity  of  London  reacted  on 
many  other  cities,  which  were  gradually  enabled  to  buy 
themselves  charters  after  her  model.  Writing  before 
I200  A.D.,  Fitzstephen  boasted  that  London  traded 
"with  every  nation  under  heaven";  and  Matthew  of 
Westminster,  a  generation  later,  gives  an  even  more 
glowing  picture  of  English  commerce  ;  "  Could  the  ships 
of  Tharshish "  (he  exclaims),  "so  extolled  in  Holy 
Scripture,  be  compared  with  thine?"  Our  fortunate 
insularity,  the  happy  balance  of  power  between  King 
and  barons,  and  sometimes  the  wisdom  of  particular 
sovereigns,  had  in  fact  enabled  commerce  to  thrive  so 
steadily  that  it  was  rapidly  becoming  a  great  political 
power.  Michelet  has  painted  with  some  characteristic 
exaggeration  of  colour,  but  most  truly  in  the  main,  the 
contrast  between  English  and  French  commerce  in  the 
half-century  preceding  Chaucer's  birth.  French  sove- 
reigns failed  to  establish  any  uniform  system  of  weights 
and  measures,  and  were  themselves  responsible  for 
constant  tampering  with  the  coinage ;  they  discouraged 
the  Lombards,  interfered  with  the  great  fairs,  placed 
heavy  duties  on  all  goods  to  be  bought  or  sold,  and  at 
one  time  even  formally  forbade  "  all  trade  with  Flanders, 
Genoa,  Italy,  and  Provence."  All  roads  and  waterways 
were  subject  to  heavy  tolls;  "robbed  like  a  merchant" 
became  a  proverbial  saying.  Meanwhile,  our  own 
Edward  I.,  though  he  banished  the  Jews  and  allowed 
his  commercial  policy  to  fluctuate  sadly,  if  judged  by 
a  purely  modern  standard,  yet  did  much  to  encourage 
foreign  trade.  Edward  III.  did  so  consistently;  he 
may,  as  Hallam  says,  almost  be  called  the  P^ather  of 
English  Commerce  ;  we  have  seen  how  he  sent  Chaucer's 
father  to  negotiate  with  the  merchants  of  Cologne,  and 
our  poet  himself  with  those  of  Genoa.  When,  in  1364, 
Charles  the  Wise  proclaimed  freedom  of  trade  for  all 
English  merchants  in  France,  this  was  only  one  of  the 
many  points  on  which  he  paid  to  English  methods  the 
compliment  of  close  imitation.     But,  though  foreigners 


THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON  123 

were  welcome  to  the  English  Government,  it  was  not 
always  so  with  the  English  people.  Chaucer's  grand- 
father, in  1 3 ID,  was  one  of  sixteen  citizens  whose  arrest 
the  King  commanded  on  account  of  "certain  outrages 
and  despites"  done  to  the  Gascon  merchants.  The 
citizens  of  London  specially  resented  the  policy  by 
which  Edward  III.  took  foreign  traders  under  his  special 
protection,  and  absolved  them  from  their  share  of  the 
city  taxes  in  consideration  of  the  tribute  which  they 
paid  directly  to  him.*  The  Flemings,  as  we  have  seen, 
were  massacred  wholesale  in  the  rising  of  138 1 ;  and  the 
Hanse  merchants  were  saved  from  the  same  fate  only 
by  the  strong  stone  walls  of  their  steelyard.  But  the 
most  consistently  unpopular  of  these  strangers,  and  the 
most  prosperous,  were  the  Lombards,  a  designation 
which  included  most  Italian  merchants  trading  abroad. 
These,  since  the  expulsion  of  the  Jews,  had  enjoyed 
almost  a  monopoly  of  usury — a  hateful  term,  which,  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  covered  not  only  legitimate  banking, 
but  many  other  financial  operations  innocent  in  them- 
selves and  really  beneficial  to  the  community.!  Usury, 
though  very  familiar  to  the  papal  court,  was  fiercely 
condemned  by  the  Canon  Law,  which  would  have 
rendered  impossible  all  commerce  on  a  large  scale,  but 
for  the  ingrained  inconsistency  of  human  nature.  "He 
who  taketh  usury  goeth  to  hell,  and  he  who  taketh  none, 
liveth   on  the  verge  of  beggary";  so  wrote  an  Italian 

*  "  Letter  Book,"  G.,  pp.  iii.  fif.,  where  there  is  a  very  interesting  case 
of  a  Florentine  merchant. 

t  It  is  easy  to  understand  how  Jews  themselves  came  back  to 
England  under  the  guise  of  Lombards.  We  know  enough,  from  many 
other  sources,  of  the  evils  which  followed  from  the  inconsistent  efforts 
to  outlaw  all  takers  of  interest,  to  appreciate  the  truth  which  underlay 
the  obvious  exaggerations  of  the  Commons  in  their  petition  to  the  King 
in  1376.  "There  are  in  our  land  a  very  great  multitude  of  Lombards, 
both  brokers  and  merchants,  who  serve  no  purpose  but  that  of  ill-doing  : 
moreover,  several  of  those  which  pass  for  Lombards  are  Jews  and  Saracens 
and  privy  spies  ;  and  of  late  they  have  brought  into  our  land  a  most 
grievous  vice  which  it  beseems  us  not  to  name''  ("Rot.  Pari.,"  vol.  ii., 
P-  352,  §  58). 


124  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

contemporary  of  Chaucer's.  But  there  was  always  here 
and  there  a  bolder  sinner  who  frankly  accepted  his 
chance  of  damnation,  and  who  would  point  to  his  big 
belly  and  fat  cheeks  with  a  scoffing  "See  how  the 
priest's  curses  shrivel  me  up  ! "  Preachers  might  indeed 
urge  that,  if  the  eyes  of  such  an  one  had  been  opened, 
he  would  have  seen  how  "  God  had  in  fact  fattened  him 
for  everlasting  death,  like  a  pig  fed  up  for  slaughter"  ; 
but  there  remained  many  possibilities  of  evasion.  For 
one  open  rebel,  there  were  hundreds  who  quietly  com- 
pounded with  the  clergy  for  their  ill-gotten  gains. 
"  Usurers'  bodies  were  once  buried  in  the  field  or  in  a 
garden ;  now  they  are  interred  in  front  of  the  High 
Altar  in  churches " ;  so  writes  a  great  Franciscan 
preacher.  But  the  friars  themselves  soon  became  the 
worst  offenders.  Lady  Meed  in  "Piers  Plowman" — 
the  incarnation  of  Illicit  Gain — has  scarcely  come  up  to 
London  when — 

"  Then  came  there  a  confessor,  coped  as  a  Friar  .  .  . 
Then  he  absolved  her  soon,  and  sithen  he  said 
'  We  have  a  window  a-working,  will  cost  us  full  high  ; 
Wouldst  thou  glaze  that  gable,  and  grave  therein  thy  name, 
Sure  should  thy  soul  be  heaven  to  have.'"  * 

In  other  words,  the  Canon  Law  practically  com- 
pelled the  taker  of  interest  to  become  a  villain,  as  the 
old  penal  laws  encouraged  the  thief  to  commit  murder. 
Gower,  if  wc  make  a  little  obvious  allowance  for  a 
satirist's  rhetoric,  will  show  us  how  ordinary  citizens 
regarded  the  usurious  Lombards.!  "  They  claim  to 
dwell  in  our  land  as  freely,  and  with  as  warm  a  welcome, 
as  if  they  had  been  born  and  bred  amongst  us.  .  .  .  But 

*  Benvenuto  da  Imola,  "  Comentum,"  vol.  i.,  p.  579;  Eticnne  de 
]5ourbon,  p.  254;  Nicole  Bozon,  pp.  35,  226;  "Piers  Plowman," 
B.,  iii.,  38  ;  of.  Gower,  "  Mirour,"  21409. 

t  "Mirour,"  25429  ff.,  25237  ff,  25915.  Mr.  Macaulay  remarks  that 
Gower  seems  to  deal  more  tenderly  vviih  his  own  merchant-class  than 
with  other  classes  of  society  ;  but  his  blame,  even  with  this  allowance,  is 
severe. 


THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON  125 

they  meditate  in  their  heart  how  to  rob  our  silver  and 
gold."  They  change  (he  says)  their  chaff  for  our  corn  ; 
they  sweep  in  our  good  sterling  coin  so  that  there  is 
little  left  in  the  country.  "To-day  I  see  such  Lombards 
come  [to  London]  as  menials  in  mean  attire;  and  before 
a  year  is  past,  by  dint  of  deceit  and  intrigue,  they  dress 
more  nobly  than  the  burgesses  of  our  city.  ...  It  is 
great  shame  that  our  Lords,  who  ought  to  keep  our 
laws,  should  treat  our  merchants  as  serfs,  and  quietly 
free  the  hands  of  strange  folk  to  rob  us.  But  Covetise 
hath  dominion  over  all  things  :  for  bribery  makes  friends 
and  brings  success :  that  is  the  custom  in  my  country." 
Nor  "in  my  country"  only,  but  in  other  lands  too;  for 
the  best-known  firm  of  merchants  now-a-days  is  Trick 
and  Co.  "  Seek  from  East  to  the  going  out  of  the  West, 
there  is  no  city  or  good  town  where  Trick  does  not  rob 
to  enrich  himself  Trick  at  Bordeaux,  Trick  at  Seville, 
Trick  at  Paris  buys  and  sells ;  Trick  has  his  ships  and 
servants,  and  of  the  noblest  riches  Trick  has  ten  times 
more  than  other  folk. .  At  Florence  and  Venice,  Trick 
has  his  fortress  and  freedom  of  trade ;  so  he  has  at 
Bruges  and  Ghent;  under  his  care  too  has  the  noble 
City  on  the  Thames  put  herself,  which  Brutus  founded, 
but  which  Trick  is  on  the  way  to  confound.  .  .  ."  Why 
not,  indeed,  in  an  age  in  which  all  the  bonds  of  society 
are  loosed?  "One  [merchant]  told  me  the  other  day 
how,  to  his  mind,  that  man  would  have  wrought  folly 
who,  being  able  to  get  the  delights  of  this  life,  should 
pass  them  by  :  for  after  this  life  is  over,  no  man  knoweth 
for  truth  which  way  or  by  what  path  we  go.  Thus  do 
the  merchants  of  our  present  days  dispute  and  say  and 
answer  for  the  most  part." 

Much  of  Gower's  complaint  about  Trick  might  be 
equally  truly  applied  to  any  age  or  community;  but 
much  was  due  also  to  the  growth  of  large  and  com- 
plicated money  transactions,  involving  considerable 
speculation  on  credit.  Gower  complains  that  merchants 
talked  of  "many  thousands"  where  their  fathers  had 


126  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

talked  of  "  scores  "  or  "  hundreds  " ;  and  he,  like  Chaucer, 
describes  the  dignified  trader  as  affecting  considerable 
outward  show  to  disguise  the  insecurity  of  his  financial 
position.*  Edward  III.  set  here  a  Royal  example  by 
failing  for  a  million  florins,  or  more  than  ;^ 4,000,000  of 
modern  money,  and  thus  ruining  two  of  the  greatest 
European  banking  firms,  the  Bardi  and  Peruzzi  of 
Florence.  Undeterred  by  similar  risks,  the  de  la  Poles 
of  Hull  undertook  to  finance  the  King,  and  became  the 
first  family  of  great  merchant-princes  in  England. 
Operations  such  as  these  opened  a  new  world  of  possi- 
bilities for  commerce — vast  stakes  on  the  table,  and 
vast  prizes  to  the  winners.  Moreover,  city  politics 
grew  complicated  in  proportion  with  city  finance.  The 
mass  of  existing  documents  shows  a  continual  extension 
of  the  Londoner's  civic  authorities,  until  the  townsfolk 
were  trammeled  by  a  network  of  byelaws  not  indeed 
so  elaborate  as  those  of  a  modern  city,  but  incomparably 
more  hampering  and  vexatious.  On  this  subject,  which 
is  of  capital  importance  for  the  comprehension  of  life  in 
Chaucer's  time,  it  would  be  difficult  on  the  whole  to  put 
the  facts  more  clearly  than  they  have  already  been  put 
by  Riley  on  pp.  cix.  ff.  of  his  introduction  to  the  "  Liber 
Albus."  "Such  is  a  sketch  of  some  few  of  the  leading 
features  of  social  life  within  the  walls  of  London  in  the 
13th  and  14th  centuries.  The  good  old  times,  whenever 
else  they  may  have  existed,  assuredly  are  not  to  be 
looked  for  in  days  like  these.  And  yet  these  were  not 
lawless  days;  on  the  contrary,  owing  in  part  to  the 
restless  spirit  of  interference  which  seems  to  have 
actuated  the  lawmakers,  and  partly  to  the  low  and 
disparaging  estimate  evidently  set  by  them  upon  the 
minds  and  dispositions  of  their  fellow-men,  these  were 
times,  the  great  evil  of  which  was  a  superfluity  of  laws 
both  national  and  local,  worse  than  needless  ;  laws  which, 
while  unfortunately  they  created  or  protected  compara- 

*  "  Mirour,"  25813.     The  emphasis   which  he  hiys   on    carpets    and 
curtains  shows  how  great  a  luxury  they  were  then  considered. 


THE  LAWS  OF   LONDON  127 

tively  few  real  valuable  rights,  gave  birth  to  many  and 
grievous  wrongs.  That  the  favoured  and  so-called  free 
citizen  of  London  even — despite  the  extensive  privileges 
in  reference  to  trade  which  he  enjoyed — was  in  posses- 
sion of  more  than  the  faintest  shadow  of  liberty,  can 
hardly  be  alleged,  if  we  only  call  to  mind  the  substance 
of  the  pages  just  submitted  to  the  reader's  notice,  filled 
as  they  are  with  enactments  and  ordinances,  arbitrary, 
illiberal,  and  oppressive :  laws,  for  example,  which  com- 
pelled each  citizen,*  whether  he  would  or  no,  to  be 
bail  and  surety  for  a  neighbour's  good  behaviour,  over 
whom  perhaps  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  exercise  the 
slightest  control ;  laws  which  forbade  him  to  make  his 
market  for  the  day  until  the  purveyors  for  the  King 
and  the  great  lords  of  the  land  had  stripped  the  stalls 
of  all  that  was  choicest  and  best;  laws  which  forbade 
him  to  pass  the  city  walls  for  the  purpose  even  of 
meeting  his  own  purchased  goods ;  laws  which  bound 
him  to  deal  with  certain  persons  or  communities  only, 
or  within  the  precincts  only  of  certain  localities ;  laws 
which  dictated,  under  severe  penalties,  what  sums,  and 
no  more,  he  was  to  pay  to  his  servants  and  artisans ; 
laws  which  drove  his  dog  out  of  the  streets,  while  they 
permitted  'genteel  dogs'  to  roam  at  large:  nay,  even 
more  than  this,  laws  which  subjected  him  to  domiciliary 
visits  from  the  city  officials  on  various  pleas  and  pre- 
texts ;  which  compelled  him  to  carry  on  a  trade  under 
heavy  penalties,  irrespective  of  the  question  whether  or 
not  it  was  at  his  loss  ;  and  which  occasionally  went  so 
far  as  to  lay  down  rules,  at  what  hours  he  was  to  walk 
in  the  streets,  and  incidentall}^,  what  he  was  to  eat  and 
what  to  drink.  Viewed  individually,  laws  and  ordi- 
nances such  as  these  may  seem,  perhaps,  of  but  trifling 
moment;  but  'trifles  make  life,' the  poet  says,  and  to. 
have  lived  fettered  by  numbers  of  restrictions  like  these, 

*  "  In  justice,  however,  to  these  centuries,  it  must  be  remarked,  that 
they  received  the  institutions  of  Frankpledge  as  an  inheritance  from 
Saxon  times  "  (Riley). 


128  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

must  have  rendered  life  irksome  in  the  extreme  to  a 
sensitive  man,  and  a  burden  hard  to  be  borne.  Every 
dark  picture,  however,  has  its  reverse,  and  in  the  legis- 
lation even  of  these  gloomy  days  there  are  one  or  two 
meritorious  features  to  be  traced.  The  labourer,  no 
doubt,  so  far  as  disposing  of  his  labour  at  his  own  time 
and  option  was  concerned,  was  too  often  treated  little 
better  than  a  slave  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  price  of 
bread  taken  into  consideration,  the  wages  of  his  labour 
appear — at  times,  at  least — to  have  been  regulated  on  a 
very  fair  and  liberal  scale.  The  determination,  too, 
steadily  evinced  by  the  civic  authorities,  that  every 
trader  should  really  sell  what  he  professed  to  sell,  and 
that  the  poor,  whatever  their  other  grievances,  should 
be  protected,  in  their  dealings,  against  the  artifices  of 
adulteration,  deficient  measures,  and  short  weight,  is 
another  feature  that  commands  our  approval.  Greatly 
deserving,  too,  of  commendation  is  the  pride  that  was 
evidently  felt  by  the  Londoners  of  these  times  in  the 
purity  of  the  waters  of  their  much-loved  Thames,  and 
the  carefulness  with  which  the  civic  authorities,  in 
conjunction  with  the  Court,  took  every  possible  pre- 
caution to  preserve  its  banks  from  encroachment  and 
its  stream  from  pollution.  The  fondness,  too,  of  the 
citizens  of  London  in  former  times  for  conduits  and 
public  fountains,  though  based,  perhaps,  upon  absolute 
necessity,  to  some  extent,  is  a  feature  that  we  miss  in 
their  representatives  at  the  present  day." 

The  words  about  the  purity  of  the  Thames  need 
some  modification  in  the  light  of  such  incidents  as  those 
recorded  (for  instance)  in  Mr.  Sharpe's  calendar  of 
"Letter  Book"  G,  pp.  xxvii.  ff  ;  *  but  the  most  serious 

*  "To  these  writs  return  was  made  [in  1354]  to  the  effect  that  the 
civic  authorities  had  given  orders  for  butchers  to  carry  the  entrails  of 
slaughtered  beasts  to  the  Flete  and  there  clean  them  in  the  tidal  waters 
of  the  Thames,  instead  of  throwing  them  on  the  pavement  by  the  house 
of  the  Grey  Friars."  Again  :  "  Although  this  order  [of  1369]  was  carried 
out  and  the  bridge  destroyed,  butchers  continued  to  carry  olfal  from  the 


THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON  129 

gap  in  Riley's  picture  is  the  absence  of  any  clear  allusion 
to  the  almost  incredible  gulfs  which  are  frequently  to 
be  found  between  14th-century  theory  and  practice. 
We  have  already  seen  how  openly  the  city  officials 
broke  their  own  brand-new  resolution  about  lodgings 
over  the  city  gates ;  and  the  surviving  records  of  all 
medieval  cities  tell  the  same  tale,  for  which  we  might 
indeed  be  prepared  by  the  wearisome  iteration  with 
which  we  find  the  same  enactments  re-enacted  again 
and  again,  as  if  they  had  never  been  thought  of  before. 
As  Dean  Colet  said,  when  the  world  of  the  Middle  Ages 
was  at  its  last  gasp,  it  was  not  new  laws  that  England 
needed,  but  a  new  spirit  of  justice  in  enforcing  the  old 
laws.  Seldom,  indeed,  had  these  become  an  absolute 
dead  letter — we  find  them  invoked  at  times  where  we 
should  least  have  expected  it — but  at  the  very  best 
they  were  enforced  with  a  barefaced  partiality  which 
cannot  be  paralleled  in  modern  civilized  countries  even 
under  the  most  unfavourable  circumstances.  From 
Norwich,  one  of  the  greatest  towns  in  the  kingdom, 
and  certainly  not  one  of  the  worst  governed,  we  have 
fortunately  surviving  a  series  of  Leet  Court  Rolls,  which 
have  been  admirably  edited  by  Mr.  Hudson  for  the 
Selden  Society,  and  commented  on  more  briefly  in  his 
"  Records  of  the  City  of  Norwich."  *  He  shows  that, 
whereas  the  breach  of  certain  civic  regulations  should 
nominally  have  been  punished  by  a  fine  for  the  first 
offence,  pillory  for  the  second,  and  expulsion  for  the 
third,  yet  in  fact  there  was  no  pretence,  in  an  ordinary 
way,  of  taking  the  law  literally.  "The  price  of  ale  was 
fixed  according  to  the  price  of  wheat.  Almost  every 
housewife  of  the  leading  families  brewed  ale  and  sold 
it  to  her  neighbours,  and  invariably  charged  more  than 
the  fixed  price.  The  authorities  evidently  expected 
and  wished   this  course  to  be   taken,  for   these   ladies 

shambles  to  the  riverside  ;  and  this  nuisance  had  to  be  suppressed  in 
1370."     But  the  whole  passage  should  be  read  in  full. 
*  Vol.  I.,  cxxxviii.  ff,  and  365  iJ. 
K 


130  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

were  regularly  presented  and  amerced  every  year  for 
the   same   offence,   paid   their  amercements    and  went 
away  to  go  through  the  same  process  in  the  future  as 
in  the  past.     Much  the  same  course  was   pursued   by 
other  trades  and  occupations.      Fishmongers,  tanners, 
poulterers,  cooks,  etc.,  are  fined  wholesale  year  after 
year  for  breaking   every  by-law  that   concerned   their 
business.     In  short,  instead  of  a  trader  (as  now)  taking 
out  a  license  to  do  his  business  on  certain  conditions 
which  he  is  expected  to  keep,  he  was  bound  by  con- 
ditions which  he  was  expected  to  break  and  afterwards 
fined  for  the  breach.      The   same  financial  result  was 
attained  or  aimed  at  by  a  different  method."     Moreover, 
the  fines  themselves  were  collected  with  the  strangest 
irregularity.    "Some  are  excused  by  the  Bailiffs  without 
reason  assigned ;  some  'at  the  instance  '  of  certain  great 
people  wishing  to  do  a  good  turn  for  a  friend.     Again, 
others  make  a  bargain  with  the  collector,  thus  expressed, 
as   for  instance,  'John  de  SwafTham  is  not  in  tithing. 
Amercement  25.     He  paid  6d.,  the  rest  is  excused.     He 
is  quit'    Sometimes  an  entry  is  marked  'vad,'  i.e.vadiat, 
or   vadiatur,   '  he   gives   a   pledge,'   or,   '  it   is   pledged.' 
The  Collector  had  seized  a  jug,  or  basin,  or  chair.     But 
by  far  the  larger  number  of  entries  are  marked  'd,'  i.e. 
debet,  'he  owes  it.'     The  Collector  had  got  nothing.     At 
the  end  of  each  (great)  Leet  is  a  collector's  account  of 
moneys  received  and  paid  in  to  the  Bailiffs  or  the  City 
Chamberlain  in  three  or  four  or  more  payments.     By 
drawing  out  a  balance  sheet  for  the  whole  city  in  this 
year  it  appears  that  the  total  amount  of  all  the  amerce- 
ments entered  is  £72   185.   lod.      This  is  equivalent  to 
more  than  ;^iooo  at  the  present  value  of  money.     But 
all    that    the    Collectors    can    account   for,    even    after 
Easter,  is  £iy  os.  2d.     It  is  clear  that  however  efficient 
the  system  was  in    preventing   offences   from   passing 
undetected,  it  did  not  do  much  to  deter  offenders  from 
repeating  them." 

The  enactments,  of  course,  were  still  there  on  the 


THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON  131 

city  Statute-book;  and,  if  an  example  needed  to  be 
made  of  any  specially  obnoxious  tradesman,  they  might 
sometimes  be  enforced  in  all  their  theoretical  rigour. 
In  general,  however,  the  severity  of  the  written  law 
was  scarcely  realized  but  by  men  with  very  tender 
consciences  or  with  very  few  friends.  Forestalling  in 
the  market  was  one  of  the  most  heinous  of  civic  offences; 
yet,  while  John  Doe  was  dutifully  paying  his  morning 
orisons,  Richard  Roe  was  "out  at  cockcrow  to  buy 
privately  when  the  citizens  were  at  Mass,  so  that  by 
six  o'clock,  there  was  nothing  left  in  the  market  for 
the  good  folk  of  tlje  town."*  Not  less  heinous  was  the 
selling  of  putrid  victuals.  Here  we  do  indeed  find  the 
theoretical  horrors  of  the  pillory  inflicted  in  all  their 
rigour,  but  not  once  a  year  among  the  40,000  people  of 
London,  f  These  cannot  have  been  the  only  offenders, 
or  even  an  appreciable  fraction  of  them ;  for  Chaucer's 
sarcasm  as  to  the  unwholesome  fare  provided  at  cook- 
shops  is  borne  out  even  more  emphatically  by  others. 
Cardinal  Jacques  de  Vitry  tells  how  a  customer  once 
pleaded  for  a  reduction  in  price  "  because  I  have  bought 
no  flesh  but  at  your  shop  for  these  last  seven  years." 
"What!"  replied  the  Cook,  "for  so  long  a  time,  and 
you  are  yet  alive !  "  The  author  of  "  Piers  Plowman  " 
exhorts  mayors  to  apply  the  pillory  more  strictly 
to— 

"  Brewsters  and  bakers,  butchers  and  cooks  ; 
For  these  are  men  on  this  mould  that  most  harm  worken 
To  the  poor  people  that  piece-meal  buyen  : 
For  they  poison  the  people  privily  and  oft  .  .  ." 

A  lurid  commentary  on  these  lines  may  be  found  in  a 
presentment  of  the  twelve  jurors  at  the  Norwich  leet- 
court.  "All  the  men  of  Sprowston  sell  sausages  and 
puddings  and   knowingly  buy  measly  pigs;   and  they 

*  Mrs.  Green,  "Town  Life,"  ii.,  55. 

t  Between  1347  and  1375,  for  instance,  there  are  only  23  cases  of 
pillory  in  all. 


132  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

sell  in  Norwich  market  the  aforesaid  sausages  and  pigs, 
unfit  for  human  bodies."  * 

This,  of  course,  is  only  one  side  of  city  life :  the  side 
of  which  we  catch  glimpses  nowadays  when  the  veil  is 
lifted  at  Chicago.  Rudimentary  and  partial  as  city 
justice  still  was  in  Chaucer's  days,  overstrained  in 
theory  and  weak-kneed  in  practice,  it  was  yet  a  part 
of  real  self-government  and  of  real  apprenticeship  to 
higher  things  in  politics,  not  only  civic  but  national. 
The  constitution  of  the  city  was  frankly  oligarchical, 
yet  the  mere  fact  that  the  citizens  should  have  a  con- 
stitution of  their  own,  which  they  often  had  to  defend 
against  encroachments  by  brotherly  co-operation,  by 
heavy  sacrifices  of  money,  or  even  at  the  risk  of  blood- 
shed— this  in  itself  was  the  thin  end  of  the  democratic 
wedge  in  national  politics.  Rich  merchants  might, 
indeed,  domineer  over  their  fellow-citizens  by  naked 
tyranny  and  sheer  weight  of  money,  \vhich  (as  14th- 
century  writers  assert  in  even  less  qualified  terms  than 
those  of  our  own  day)  controls  all  things  under  the  sun. 
But  it  was  these  same  men  who,  side  by  side  with  their 
brothers,  the  country  squires,!  successfully  asserted  in 
Parliament  the  power  of  the  purse,  and  the  right  of 
asking  even  the  King  how  he  meant  to  spend  the  nation's 
money,  before  they  voted  it  for  his  use. 

•  It  is  pertinent  to  note  in  this  connection  the  medieval  custom  of 
giving  condemned  meat  to  hospitals.  Mr.  Wheatley  ("  London,"  p. 
196)  quotes  from  a  Scottish  Act  of  Parliament  in  1386,  "  Gif  ony  man 
brings  to  the  market  corrupt  swine  or  salmond  to  be  sauld,  they  sail  be 
taken  by  the  bailie,  and  incontinent,  without  ony  question,  sail  be  sent  to 
the  leper  folkc  ;  and,  gif  there  be  na  lepper  folke,  they  sail  be  destroyed 
all  uttt-rlie."  At  Oxford  in  the  15th  century,  there  was  a  similar  regulation 
providing  that  putrid  or  unfit  meat  and  fish  should  be  sent  to  St.  John's 
Hospital.  ("Munimenta  Academica"  (R.S.),  pp.  51,  52).  Here  is  a 
probable  clue  to  the  tradition  that  medieval  apprentices  struck  against 
salmon  more  than  twice  a  week.  .See  Athenccutn,  August  27  and 
September  3,  1898. 

t  Besant  insists  very  justly  on  the  blood-kinship  between  the  leading 
citizens  and  the  country  gentry.  ("Medieval  London,"  i.,  218  ff.)  He 
shows  that  a  very  large  majority  of  Mayors,  Aldermen,  etc.,  were  country- 
born,  and  of  good  family. 


THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON  133 

Moreover,  it  was  due  enormously  to  London  and  the 
great  cities  that  our  national  liberties  were  safeguarded 
from  the  foreign  invader.  The  considerable  advance  in 
national  wealth  between  1330  and  1430  was  partly  due 
to  our  success  in  war.  While  English  cities  multiplied, 
French  cities  had  even  in  many  cases  to  surrender  into 
their  King's  hands  those  liberties  for  which  they  were 
now  too  poor  to  render  the  correspondent  services. 
Yet,  even  before  the  first  blow  had  been  struck,  those 
wars  were  already  half-won  by  English  commerce. 
"The  secret  of  the  battles  of  Crecy  and  Poitiers  lies  in 
the  merchants'  counting-houses  of  London,  Bordeaux, 
and  Bruges."*  Apart  from  those  habits  and  qualities 
which  successful  commerce  implies,  the  amount  of 
direct  supplies  in  men  and  money  contributed  by  the 
English  towns  during  Edward's  wars  can  only  be  fully 
realized  by  reading  Dr.  Sharpe's  admirable  prefaces  to 
his  "  Calendars  of  Letter-Books."  But  a  single  instance 
is  brief  and  striking  enough  to  be  quoted  here. 

Our  crushing  defeat  by  the  combined  French  and 
Spanish  navies  off  La  Rochelle  in  1372  lost  us  the  com- 
mand of  the  sea  until  our  victory  at  Cadzand  in  1387; 
and  Chaucer's  Merchant  rightly  voiced  the  crying  need 
of  English  commerce  during  that  time — 

He  would  the  sea  were  kept,  for  any  thing, 
Betwixtii  Middelburgh  and  Orewell. 

During  those  fifteen  years  the  ports  of  the  south 
coast  were  constantly  harried  by  privateers.  The  Isle 
of  Wight  was  taken  and  plundered.  The  Prior  of 
Lewes,  heading  a  hastily  raised  force  against  the 
invaders,  was  taken  prisoner  at  Rottingdean ;  and  such 
efforts  to  clear  the  seas  as  were  made  on  our  part  were 
not  public,  but  merely  civic,  or  even  private.  The  men 
of  Winchelsea  and  Rye  burned  a  couple  of  Norman 
ports,  after  plundering  the  very  churches ;  and  the 
sailors  of  Portsmouth  and  Dartmouth  collected  a  fleet 

*  Michelet,  "  Hist,  de  France,''  1.  i.,  ch.  i. 


134      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

which  for  a  short  while  swept  the  Channel.  This  may 
be  the  reason  why  Chaucer,  writing  two  years  later, 
makes  his  bold  Shipman  hail  from  Dartmouth.  But, 
seven  years  before  this  raid,  a  single  London  merchant 
had  done  still  more.  A  Scottish  pirate  named  Mercer, 
reinforced  by  French  and  Spanish  ships,  infested  the 
North  Sea  until  "God  raised  up  against  him  one  of  the 
citizens  of  Troynovant."  "John  Philpot,  citizen  of 
London,  a  man  of  great  wit,  wealth  and  power,  nar- 
rowly considering  the  default  or  treachery  of  the  Duke 
of  Lancaster  and  the  other  Lords  who  ought  to  have 
defended  the  realm,  and  pitying  his  oppressed  country- 
men, hired  with  his  own  money  a  thousand  armed  men. 
.  .  .  And  it  came  to  pass  that  the  Almighty,  who  ever 
helpeth  pious  vows,  gave  success  to  him  and  his,  so 
that  his  men  presently  took  the  said  Mercer,  with  all 
that  he  had  taken  by  force  from  Scarborough,  and 
fifteen  more  Spanish  ships  laden  with  much  riches. 
Whereat  the  whole  people  exulted  .  .  .  and  now  John 
Philpot  alone  was  praised  in  all  men's  mouths  and  held 
in  admiration,  while  they  spake  opprobriously  and  with 
bitter  blame  of  our  princes  and  the  host  which  had  long 
ago  been  raised,  as  is  the  wont  of  the  common  herd  in 
their  changing  moods."  * 

Walsingham's  final  moral  here  is,  after  all,  that  of 
Chaucer:  "O  stormy  people,  unsad  and  ever  untrue. 
Aye  indiscreet,  and  changing  as  a  vane!"t  English 
writers  seem,  indeed,  to  speak  of  their  countrymen  as 
especially  fickle  and  inconstant ;  and  there  was  no 
doubt  more  reason  for  the  charge  in  those  days,  when 
men  in  general  were  far  more  swayed  by  impulse  and 
less  by  reflexion — when  indeed  the  fundamental  in- 
security of  the  social  and  political  fabric  was  such  as  to 
thwart  even  the  ripest  reflexion  at  every  turn.  It  is 
striking   how    short-lived    were    the    London    trading 

*  John  Philpot,  it  may  be  noted,  was  at  this  very  time  one  of  the 
Collectors  of  Customs  under  Chaucer's  Comptrollership. 
t  "  C.  T.,"  E.,  995. 


THE  LAWS  OF  LONDON  135 

families  until  after  Chaucer's  time :  no  such  succession 
as  the  Rothschilds  and  Barings  was  as  yet  possible. 
Moreover,  in  civic  as  in  national  politics,  it  was  still 
possible  to  lose  one's  head  for  the  crime  of  having 
shown  too  much  zeal  in  a  losing  cause,  as  the  career  of 
Chaucer's  colleague  Brembre  may  testify.*  Walsingham 
loses  no  opportunity  of  jeering  at  the  inconstancy  of  the 
London  citizens ;  he  portrays  their  panic  during  the 
invasion  scare  of  1386,  and  during  the  King's  suppres- 
sion of  their  liberties  in  1389-92,  with  all  the  superiority 
of  a  monk  whose  own  skin  was  safe  enough  in  the 
cloister  of  St.  Alban's.  On  this  latter  occasion  the 
citizens  had  to  pay  Richard  the  enormous  fine  of  ;^20,ooo 
— or,  according  to  a  Malmesbury  monk,  ^^"40,000 — for 
the  restoration  of  their  privileges ;  and  even  then  they 
were  glad  to  welcome  him  on  his  first  gracious  visit  "  as 
an  angel  of  God."t  But  they  bided  their  time,  and 
Richard  was  to  learn,  like  other  sovereigns  before  and 
since,  how  heavy  a  sword  the  Londoners  could  throw 
into  the  political  scale.  Froissart  noted  that  "they  ever 
have  been,  are,  and  will  be  so  long  as  the  City  stands, 
the  most  powerful  of  all  England  " ;  that  what  London 
thought  was  also  what  England  thought ;  and  that  even 
a  king  might  find  he  had  gained  but  a  Pyrrhic  victory 
over  them.  "For  where  the  men  of  London  are  at 
accord  and  fully  agreed,  no  man  dare  gainsay  them. 
They  are  of  more  weight  than  all  the  rest  of  England, 
nor  dare  any  man  drive  them  to  bay,  for  they  are  most 
mighty  in  wealth  and  in  men."  t 

However  little  Chaucer  may  have  interested  himself 
in  his  neighbours,  here  were  things  which  no  poet  could 
help  seeing.     The  real  history  of  Medieval  London  is 

*  The  violent  scenes  of  the  years  1381-1391  are  summarized  in 
Wheatley's  "London"  (Medieval  Towns),  pp.  236-9.  Among  the 
victims  of  an  unsuccessful  cause  were  even  Sir  William  Walworth  and 
Sir  John  Philpot. 

t  Walsingham,  an.  1392  ;  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  368. 

X  Ed.  Luce,  vol.  i.,  pp.  224,  243,  249. 


136  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

yet  to  be  written ;  it  will  be  a  story  of  strange  con- 
trasts, gold  and  brass  and  iron  and  clay.  But  there  was 
a  greatness  in  the  very  disquiet  and  inconstancy  of  the 
city  ;  some  ideals  were  already  fermenting  there  which, 
realized  only  after  centuries  of  conflict,  have  made 
modern  England  what  we  are  proud  to  see  her;  and 
other  ideals  of  which  we,  like  our  forefathers,  can  only 
say  that  we  trust  in  their  future  realization. 


CHAPTER   XI 

"CANTERBURY    TALES  "—THE   DRAMATIS 
PERSONS 

"  Pilgrims  and  palmers  plighted  them  together 
To  seek  St.  James,  and  saints  in  Rome. 
They  went  forth  in  their  way  with  many  wise  tales, 
And  had  leave  to  lie  all  their  life  after  .  .  . 
Hermits  on  an  heap,  with  hooked  staves, 
Wenten  to  Walsingham,  and  their  wenches  after ; 
Great  lubbers  and  long,  that  loth  were  to  labour, 
Clothed  them  in  copes  to  be  knowen  from  other, 
And  shaped  themselves  as  hermits,  their  ease  to  have." 

"  Piers  Plowman,"  B.,  Prol.  46 

DURING  those  twelve  years  in  Aldgate  Tower, 
Chaucer's  genius  fought  its  way  through  the 
literary  conventions  of  his  time  to  the  full  assertion  of 
its  native  originality.  He  had  begun  with  allegory  and 
moralization,  after  the  model  of  the  "  Roman  de  la 
Rose";  shreds  of  these  conventions  clung  to  him  even 
to  the  end  of  the  Aldgate  period  ;  but  they  were  already 
outworn.  In  "Troilus  and  Cressida  "  we  have  real  men 
and  women  under  all  the  classical  machinery  :  they  think 
and  act  as  men  thought  and  acted  in  Chaucer's  time ; 
and  Pandarus  especially  is  so  lifelike  and  individual  that 
Shakespeare  will  transfer  him  almost  bodily  to  his  own 
canvas.  In  the  "  House  of  Fame"  and  the  "  Legend  of 
Good  Women  "  the  form  indeed  is  again  allegorical,  but 
the  poet's  individuality  breaks  through  this  narrow- 
mask;  his  self-revelations  are  franker  and  more  direct 
than  at  any  previous  time ;  and  in  each  case  he  wearied 
of  the  poem  and  broke  off  long  before  the  end.  With 
the  humility  of  a  true  artist,  he  had  practised  his  hand 
for  years  to  draw  carefully  after  the  old  acknowledged 


138      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

models;  but  these  now  satisfied  him  less  and  less.  His 
mind  was  stored  with  images  which  could  not  be  forced 
into  the  narrow  framework  of  a  dream  ;  he  must  find  a 
canvas  broad  enough  for  all  the  life  of  his  time  ;  for  the 
cream  of  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard  in  Flanders  and 
France  and  Italy,  in  the  streets  of  London  and  on  the 
open  highways  of  a  dozen  English  counties.  Boccaccio, 
for  a  similar  scheme,  had  brought  together  a  company 
of  young  Florentines  of  the  upper  class,  and  of  both 
sexes,  in  a  villa-garden.  Chaucer's  plan  of  a  pilgrim 
cavalcade  gave  him  a  variety  of  character  as  much 
greater  as  the  company  in  a  third-class  carriage  is  more 
various  than  that  in  a  West-end  club. 

In  earlier  ages,  a  pilgrimage  had  of  course  been  a  very 
solemn  matter,  involving  the  certainty  of  great  labour 
and  heavy  privations,  and  with  very  considerable  risk  to 
life  or  limb.  The  crusades  themselves  were  pilgrimages 
en  masse,  as  contemporary  chroniclers  often  remind  us. 
At  the  commencement  of  an  undertaking  so  serious,  the 
pilgrims  naturally  sought  the  blessing  of  the  Church ; 
and  there  was  a  special  service  for  their  use.  It  is 
probable,  however,  that  Chaucer's  pilgrims  troubled 
themselves  as  little  about  this  service  as  about  the 
special  pilgrim's  dress,  the  absence  of  which  appears 
very  plainly  from  his  descriptions  of  their  costume. 
For  a  century  at  least  before  he  wrote,  pilgrimages  had 
been  gradually  becoming  journeys  rather  of  pleasure 
than  of  duty,  for  those  who  could  afford  the  necessary 
expense  which  they  entailed.  Travelling  indeed  was 
not  always  safe  ;  but  when  the  pilgrim  went  alone  and 
on  foot  he  could  always  protect  himself  from  most  evil- 
doers by  taking  the  traditional  scrip  and  staff  and  gown 
which  marked  him  as  sacred  ;  and  often,  as  in  Chaucer's 
case,  a  caravan  was  formed  which  might  well  defy  all 
the  ordinary  perils  of  the  road.  The  "  mire "  and 
"  slough,"  which  Chaucer  more  than  once  mentions, 
had  always  been  as  much  a  matter  of  common  routine 
to  everybody,  even  on  his  journey  from  farm  to  farm  or 


"CANTERBURY   TALES 


139 


village  to  village,  as  a  puncture  is  to  the  modern  cyclist, 
or  occasional  external  traction  to  the  motorist.  *  More- 
over, though  the  inns  might  not  be  what  we  should  call 
luxurious,  they  offered  abundant  good  cheer  and  good 


A   HOSTELRY   AT   NIGHT 


(From  a  15th-century  MS.  of  "  Les  Cent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles' 
Hunterian  Library  at  Glasgow) 


in  the 


fellowship  to  all  who  could  pay  the  price.     A  certain 
Count    of    Poitou    went    about    in    disguise    to    find 

*  Cf.  Mrs.  Green,  loc.  cit.,  ii.,  31.  "  In  1499  a  glover  from  Leighton 
Buzzard  travelled  with  his  wares  to  Aylesbury  for  the  market  before 
Christmas  Day.  It  happened  that  an  Aylesbury  miller,  Richard  Boose, 
finding  that  his  mill  needed  repairs,  sent  a  couple  of  servants  to  dig 
clay  'called  Ramming  clay'  for  him  on  the  highway,  and  was  in  no 
way  dismayed  because  the  digging  of  this  clay  made  a  great  pit  in 
the  middle  of  the  road  ten  feet  wide,  eight  feet  broad,  and  eight  feet  deep, 
which  was  quickly  filled  with  water  by  the  winter  rains.  But  the  unhappy 
glover,  making  his  way  from  the  town  in  the  dusk,  with  his  horse  laden 
with  panniers  full  of  gloves,  straightway  fell  into  the  pit,  and  man  and 
horse  were  drowned.  The  miller  was  charged  with  his  death,  but  was 
acquitted  by  the  court  on  the  ground  that  he  had  had  no  malicious 
intent,  and  had  only  dug  the  pit  to  repair  his  mill,  and  because  he  really 
did  not  know  of  any  other  place  to  get  the  kind  of  clay  he  wanted  save 
the  highroad." 


140  CHAUCER  AND    HIS  ENGLAND 

what  class  of  his  subjects  led  the  happiest  life;  he 
judged  at  last  "that  the  merchants  at  fair-time,  who  go 
to  taverns  and  find  all  the  delicacies  they  can  desire 
ready  prepared,  would  lead  the  most  delightful  life 
of  all,  but  for  this  one  drawback,  that  they  must  at  last 
settle  the  score  for  all  that  they  have  consumed."  *  If, 
at  these  inns,  the  pilgrims  often  found  themselves 
packed  into  great  dormitories  fitted  with  berths  like 
a  ship's  cabin,  this  was  far  less  of  a  change  from  their 
ordinary  habits  than  are  those  hardships  to  which 
modern  mountain  tourists  cheerfully  submit  on  occa- 
sion.! Any  great  change  from  the  ordinary  routine 
marks  a  bright  spot  in  most  men's  minds,  even  in  these 
days  of  many  amusements  and  much  locomotion ;  so 
that,  in  proportion  as  the  King's  peace  grew  more 
effectual  in  England,  and  places  of  pilgrimage  multi- 
plied, and  the  middle  classes  could  better  afford  the 
expense  of  time  or  money,  it  became  as  natural  to 
many  people  to  go  to  Walsingham  or  Canterbury  for 
the  sake  of  the  pleasant  society  as  it  was  to  choose  a 
church  for  the  sake  of  gossip  or  flirtation.}  This  is 
already  complained  of  about  1250  a.d.  by  Berthold  of 
Regensburg,  one  of  the  greatest  mission-preachers  of 
the  13th  century.  "Men  talk  nowadays  in  church  as  if 
it  were  at  market.  .  .  .  One  tells  what  he  has  seen 
on  his  pilgrimage  to  Palestine  or  Rome  or  Compostella: 
thou  mayst  easily  say  so  much  in  church  of  these  same 
pilgrimages,  that  God  or   St.  James  will  give  thee  no 

*  Etienne  dc  IJourbon,  p.  411. 

t  T.  Wright,  "  Homes  of  other  Days,"  pp.  345  ft'.,  whence  I  borrow  the 
accompanyin*,'  illustration  from  a  MS.  of  the  15th  century,  representing 
the  outside  and  inside  of  an  inn.  Incidentally,  it  illustrates  also  the 
common  medieval  phrase  "naked  in  bed."  Mrs.  Green  ("Town  Life," 
''•)  33)  quotes  the  grateful  entry  of  a  citizen  in  his  public  accounts  "  I'aid 
for  our  bed  there  (and  it  was  well  worth  it,  witness,  a  featherbed)  i</." 

X  There  were  sevoity  places  of  pilgrimage  in  Norfolk  alone  (Cutts, 
"  Middle  Ages,"  p.  162).  For  churches  as  trysting-placcs  for  lovers  or 
gossips  we  have  evidence  on  many  sides,  e.g.  the  lovers  of  the 
"Decameron"  (Prologue  and  Epilogue),  and  the  custom  of  "Paul's 
Walk  "  which  lasted  long  after  the  Reformation. 


"CANTERBURY   TALES ^'  141 

reward  therefore."  Again,  "  Many  a  man  journeys  hence 
to  St.  James  of  Compostella,  and  never  hears  a  single 
mass  on  the  way  out  or  back,  and  then  they  go  with 
sport  and  laughter,  and  some  seldom  say  even  their 
Paternoster!  This  I  say  not  to  turn  pilgrims  aside 
from  Compostella;  I  am  not  strong  enough  for  that; 
but  thou  mightest  earn  more  grace  by  a  few  masses  than 
for  all  thy  journey  to  Compostella  and  back.  Now,  what 
dost  thou  find  at  Compostella?  St.  James's  head.  Well 
and  good :  that  is  a  dead  skull :  the  better  part  is  in 
heaven.  Now,  what  findest  thou  at  home,  at  thy  yard- 
gate  ?  When  thou  goest  to  church  in  the  morning,  thou 
findest  the  true  God  and  Man,  body  and  soul,  as  truly  as 
on  that  day  wherein  He  was  born  of  our  Lady  St.  Mary, 
the  ever-Virgin,  whose  holiness  is  greater  than  all  saints. 
.  .  .  Thou  mayst  earn  more  reward  at  one  mass  than 
another  man  in  his  six  weeks  out  to  St.  Jacob  and  six 
weeks  back  again  :  that  makes  twelve  weeks."  "  Ye  run 
to  St.  James,  and  sell  so  much  at  home  that  sometimes 
your  wives  and  children  must  ever  be  the  poorer  for  it, 
or  thou  thyself  in  need  and  debt  all  thy  life  long.  Such 
a  man  crams  himself  so  that  he  comes  back  far  fatter 
than  he  went,  and  has  much  to  say  of  what  he  has  seen, 
and  lets  no  man  listen  to  the  service  or  the  sermon  in 
church."  Two  other  great  preachers.  Cardinal  Jacques 
de  Vitry  shortly  before  Berthold,  and  Etienne  de 
Bourbon  shortly  after  him,  speak  of  the  debaucheries 
which  were  not  unusual  on  pilgrimages :  the  latter  tells 
how  pilgrims  sometimes  sang  obscene  songs  in  chorus, 
and  joined  in  dissolute  dances  with  the  lewd  village  folk 
over  the  very  graves  in  the  churchyard ;  he  seems  to 
speak  of  the  German  pilgrims  as  exceptional  in  singing 
religious  songs.  All  this  was  a  century  before  Chaucer's 
journey;  and  during  those  hundred  years  the  institution 
had  steadily  lost  in  grace  as  it  gained  in  popularity. 
The  author  of  "  Piers  Plowman  "  not  only  notes  how 
many  rascals  were  to  be  found  on  pilgrimages,  but 
would  apparently  have  been  glad  to  see  them  almost 


142      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

entirely  superseded.  His  professional  pilgrim  comes 
hung  round  with  tokens  from  a  hundred  shrines  ;  he 
has  been  at  Rome,  Compostella,  Jerusalem,  Sinai, 
Bethlehem,  Babylon,  and  even  in  Armenia;  but  of 
"Saint  Truth"  he  has  never  heard,  and  can  give  no 
help  to  those  who  are  in  real  distress  about  their  souls. 
An  ideal  society  would  be  one  in  which  St.  James  was 
sought  only  by  the  sick-beds  of  the  poor,  and  pilgrims 
resorted  no  longer  to  Rome  but  to  "  prisons  and  poor 
cottages "  instead.  Seventeen  years  before  Chaucer's 
journey,  even  a  prelate  of  the  Church  dared  to  raise  a 
similar  protest.  Archbishop  Sudbury  (then  only  Bishop 
of  London)  was  met  by  a  band  of  pilgrims  on  their 
way  to  Becket's  Jubilee.  They  asked  for  his  blessing; 
he  told  them  plainly  that  the  promised  Plenary 
Indulgence  would  be  useless  to  them  unless  they 
went  in  a  more  reverent  spirit ;  and  many  simple 
souls  were  rather  pained  than  surprised  when  Wat 
Tyler's  mob,  eleven  years  later,  hacked  off  the  head 
of  so  free-thinking  an  Archbishop  on  Tower  Hill.* 
If  this  was  what  orthodox  folk  said  already,  then 
we  need  not  wonder  at  Wycliffe's  outspoken  con- 
demnation, or  that  a  citizen  of  Nottingham,  as  early 
as  1395,  was  compelled  under  pain  of  the  stake  to 
promise  (among  other  articles)  "  I  shall  never  more 
despise  pilgrimage." 

Ten  years  after  Chaucer,  again,  the  Lollard  Thorpe 
was  tried  before  Archbishop  Arundel,  and  painted  pil- 
grimages exactly  as  Chaucer's  Poor  Parson  would  have 
described  them.  "Such  fond  people  waste  blamefully 
God's  goods  on  their  vain  pilgrimages,  spending  their 
goods  upon  vicious  hostelries,  which  are  oft  unclean 
women  of  their  bodies.  .  .  .  Also,  sir,  I  knowe  well  that 
when  divers  men  and  women  will  goe  thus  after  their 
own  willes,  and  finding  out  one  pilgrimage,  they  will 

*  Berthold  v.  Regensburg,  "  Prcdigtcn,"  ed.  Pfeififer,  i.,  448,  459, 
493  ;  Et.  de  Bourbon,  p.  167  ;  "  Piers  Plowman,"  B.,  v.,  527,  C,  v.,  123  ; 
Wharton,  '*  Anglia  Sacra,"  i.,  49,  50. 


"CANTERBURY   TALES"  143 

ordaine  with  them  before,  to  have  with  them  both  men 
and  women  that  can  well  sing  wanton  songes,  and  some 
other  pilgrimes  will  have  with  them  bagge  pipes ;  so 
that  everie  towne  that  they  come  through,  what  with 
the  noise  of  their  singing,  and  with  the  sound  of  their 
piping,  and  with  the  jangling  of  their  Canterburie  bels, 
and  with  the  barking  out  of  dogges  after  them,  that  they 
make  more  noise,  then  if  the  king  came  there  away, 
with  all  his  clarions,  and  many  other  minstrels.  And  if 
these  men  and  women  be  a  moneth  out  in  their  pil- 
grimage, many  of  them  shall  be  an  halfe  yeare  after, 
great  janglers,  tale-tellers,  and  Hers."  *  A  century  later, 
we  find  Archbishop  Warham  and  the  Pope  negotiating 
privately  about  Becket's  Jubilee  in  a  frankly  commercial 
spirit,  while  Erasmus  publicly  held  up  the  Canterbury 
Pilgrimage  to  ridicule ;  and  a  few  years  later  again 
St.  Thomas  was  declared  a  traitor,  his  shrine  was 
plundered,  and  the  pilgrimages  ceased.  It  may  indeed 
be  said  that  the  Canterbury  Pilgrimage  would  not  have 
been  so  proper  for  our  poet's  dramatic  purpose  but 
that  most  of  its  religious  earnestness  had  long  since 
evaporated. 

But  what  a  canvas  it  was  in  1387,  and  how  frankly 
Chaucer  utilized  all  its  possibilities  !  The  opportunity 
of  bringing  in  any  tale  which  lay  nearest  to  his  heart — 
for  what  tale  in  the  world  was  there  that  might  not 
come  naturally  from  one  or  other  of  this  party  ? — was 
only  a  part  of  all  that  this  subject  offered,  as  the  poet 
realized  from  the  very  first.  Even  more  delightful  than 
any  of  the  tales  told  by  Chaucer's  pilgrims,  is  the  tale 
which  he  tells  us  about  them  all :  the  story  of  their 
journey  to  Canterbury.  Nowhere  within  so  brief  a 
compass  can  we  realize  either  the  life  of  the  14th  century 
on  one  hand,  or  on  the  other  that  dramatic  power  in 
which   Chaucer   stands    second    only   to    Shakespeare 

*  "  Wyclif  s  Works,"  ed.  Arnold,  i.,  83 ;  cf.  other  quotations  in 
Lechler  ;  "  Wiclif,"  Section  x.,  notes  286,  288  ;  Jusserand,  "  Vie  Nomade," 
p.  296  ;  Foxe  (Parker  See),  vol.  iii.,  p.  268. 


144      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

among  English  poets.  Forget  for  a  while  the  separate 
tales  of  the  pilgrims — many  of  which  were  patched  up 
by  fits  and  starts  during  such  broken  leisure  as  this 
man  of  the  world  could  afford  for  indulging  his  poetical 
fancies;  while  many  others  (like  the  Monk's  and  the 
Parson's)  are  tedious  to  modern  readers  in  strict  pro- 
portion to  their  dramatic  propriety  at  the  moment — 
forget  for  once  all  but  the  Prologue  and  the  end-links, 
and  read  these  through  at  one  sitting,  from  the  first 
stirrup-cup  at  Southwark  Tabard  to  that  final  crest  of 
Harbledown  where  the  weary  travellers  look  down  at 
last  upon  the  sacred  city  of  their  pilgrimage.  There  is 
no  such  story  as  this  in  all  medieval  literature ;  no 
such  wonderful  gallery  of  finished  portraits,  nor  any 
drama  so  true  both  to  common  life  and  to  perfect  art. 
The  dramatis  personam  of  the  "  Decameron  "  are  mere 
puppets  in  comparison  ;  their  occasional  talk  seems  to 
us  insipid  to  the  last  degree  of  old-world  fashion ; 
Boccaccio's  preface  and  interludes  are  as  much  less 
dramatic  than  Chaucer's  as  their  natural  background  is 
more  picturesque,  with  its  Great  Plague  in  Florence 
and  its  glimpses  of  the  Val  d'Arno  from  that  sweet  hill- 
garden  of  cypress  and  stone-pine  and  olive.  Boccaccio 
wrote  for  a  society  that  was  in  many  ways  over-refined 
already ;  it  is  fortunate  for  us  that  Chaucer's  public  was 
not  yet  at  that  point  of  literary  development  at  which 
art  is  too  often  tempted  into  artifice.  He  took  the 
living  men  day  by  day,  each  in  his  simplest  and  most 
striking  characteristics  ;  and  from  all  these  motley 
figures,  under  the  artist's  hand,  grew  a  mosaic  in  which 
each  stands  out  with  all  the  glow  of  his  own  native 
colour,  and  with  all  the  added  glory  of  the  jewelled  hues 
around  him.  The  sharp  contrasts  of  medieval  society 
gave  the  poet  here  a  splendid  opportunity.  In  days 
when  the  distinctions  of  rank  were  so  marked  and  so 
unforgettable,  even  to  the  smallest  details  of  costume, 
the  Knight's  dignity  risked  nothing  by  unbending  to 
familiar  jest  with  the  Host ;  and  the  variety  of  characters 


"CANTERBURY   TALES"  145 

which  Chaucer  has  brought  together  in  this  single 
cavalcade  is  as  probable  in  nature  as  it  is  artistically 
effective.  All  moods,  from  the  most  exalted  piety  down 
to  the  coarsest  buffoonery,  were  possible  and  natural 
on  a  journey  religious  indeed  in  essential  conception, 
but  which  had  by  this  time  become  so  common  and 
worldly  a  function  that  few  pilgrims  dreamed  of  putting 
off  the  old  Adam  until  the  white  walls  of  Canterbury 
came  in  sight.  The  plot  has  in  it  all  the  charm  of 
spring,  of  open-air  travel,  and  of  passing  good-fellow- 
ship without  afterthought ;  the  rich  fields  of  Kent,  the 
trees  budding  into  their  first  green,  mine  ease  in  mine 
inn  at  night,  and  over  all  the  journey  a  far-off  halo  of 
sanctity. 

On  the  evening  of  Tuesday,  April  i6,  1387,  twenty- 
nine  pilgrims  found  themselves  together  in  the  Tabard 
at  Southwark.*  This  hostelry  lay  almost  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  Chaucer's  birthplace,  and  within  sight 
of  many  most  notable  London  landmarks.  Behind  lay 
the  priory  of  St.  Mary  Overy,  where  Gower  was  now 
lodging  among  the  friendly  and  not  too  ascetic  monks, 
and  where  he  still  lies  carved  in  stone,  with  his  three 
great  books  for  a  pillow  to  his  head.  A  few  yards 
further  in  the  background  stood  London  Bridge,  the 
eighth  marvel  of  the  world,  with  its  twenty  arches,  its 
two  chapels,  its  double  row  of  houses,  and  its  great 
tower  bristling  with  rebel  skulls.  Wat  Tyler's  head 
was  among  the  newest  there  on  that  spring  evening  ; 
and  in  five  years  the  head  of  Chaucer's  Earl  of 
Worcester  was  to  attain  the  same  bad  eminence. 
Beyond  the  bridge  rose  the  walls  and  guard-towers  of 
the  city,  the  open  quays  and  nodding  wooden  houses, 
and  a  hundred  and  fifty  church  steeples,  seldom  indeed 
of  any  great  architectural  pretensions  individually,  but 
most   picturesque   in  their   variety,   and  dominated  by 

*  Chaucer  himself  tells  us  the  day  in  the  "  Man  of  Lawe's  Prologue  "  ; 
Prof.  Skeat  has  accumulated  highly  probable  evidence  for  the  year  1387 
(vol.  iii.,  p.  373,  and  vol.  v.,  p.  75). 
L 


146 


CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 


the    loftiest   of  all   existing    European   structures — the 
wooden  spire  of  old  St.  Paul's.* 

Nor  were  the  pilgrims  themselves  less  picturesque 
than  the  background  of  their  journey.  At  the  head  of 
the  first  group  the  Knight,  so  fresh  from  the  holy  wars 
that  the  grease  of  his  armour  still   stains   his  leather 


Short  was  his  gown,  with  sleeves  long  and  wide. 
Well  could  he  sit  on  horse,  and  faire  ride 

TIIK  SQUIRE  OF  THE   "  CANTERnURY  TALES  " 
(From  the  Ellesmere  MS.  (15th  century)  ) 

doublet,    and    that  we  guess   his  rank   only   from   the 
excellence  of  his  steed  and  his  own  high  breeding — 

And  though  that  he  were  worthy,  he  was  wise. 

And  of  his  port  as  meek  as  is  a  maid. 

He  never  yet  no  villainy  nc  said 

In  all  his  life,  unto  no  manner  wight. 

He  was  a  very  perfect  gentle  knight. 

*  About  520  feet  from  the  ground,  according  to  Hollar,  but  more 
probably  a  little  short  of  500  feet.  (H.  B.  Whcatley,  "  London,"  p.  333.) 
It  must  be  remembered  also  how  high  the  cathedral  site  rises  above  the 


"CANTERBURY  TALES"  147 

Then  his  son,  the  Squire,  a  model  of  youthful  beauty 
and  strength,  who  had  already  struck  many  a  good  blow 
in  France  for  his  lady's  grace,  but  who  shows  here  his 
gentler  side,  with  yellow  curls  falling  upon  the  shortest 
of  fashionable  jackets  and  the  longest  of  sleeves — 

Embroidered  was  he,  as  it  were  a  mead 
AH  full  of  freshc  flowres,  white  and  red. 
Singing  he  was,  or  fluting,  all  the  day  ; 
He  was  as  fresh  as  is  the  month  of  May. 

And  lastly  their  single  attendant,  the  nut-headed 
yeoman  forester,  with  his  suit  of  Lincoln  green,  his 
peacock  arrows,  and  his  mighty  bow. 

After  chivalry  comes  the  Church ;  and  first  the  fine 
black  cloth  and  snowy  linen  of  Madam  Eglantine  and 
her  fellow  nun,  clean  and  dainty  and  demure,  like  a  pair 
of  aristocratic  pussy-cats  on  a  drawing-room  hearthrug. 
Their  male    escort,   the    Nuns'   Priest,   commands    no 
great  reverence   from   mine   Host,  who,  however,  will 
presently  doff  his  cap  before  the  Prioress,  and  address 
her  with  a  studied  deference  even  beyond  the  courtesy 
which  he  renders  to  the  Knight.    Her  dignified  reserve, 
her  natural  anxiety  to  set  off  a  fine  person  with  more 
elaboration  of  costume  than  the  strict  Rule  permitted, 
her  French  of  Stratford  atte  Bowe,  her  tenderness  to 
lapdogs   and    even   to    marauding   mice,    her    faultless 
refinement  of  behaviour  under  the  ticklish  conditions 
of   a    14th-century   dinner-table — all    these   pardonable 
luxuries   of  a    fastidious    nature    are    described    with 
Chaucer's   most   delicate   irony,    and   stand   in   artistic 
contrast  to  the  grosser  indiscipline  of  the  Monk.     This 
"manly   man,  to   be    an   abbot   able,"   contemptuously 
repudiated  the  traditional  restraints  of  the  cloister,  and 
even  the  comparatively  mild  discipline  of  those  smaller 
and   therefore   less   rigorous    "  cells "  which   the   fiery 
zeal   of  St.    Bernard   stigmatized    as    "  Synagogues   of 
Satan."  *     He  scoffed  at  the  Benedictine  prohibition  of 

*  Bern.  Ep.  25  ;  cf.  "  Liber  Guillelmi  Majoris,"  p.  478. 


148  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

field  sports  and  of  extravagant  dress,  and  at  the  old- 
fashioned  theory  of  subduing  the  flesh  by  hard  brain- 
work  or  field  labour ;  yet  at  bottom  he  seems  to  have 
been  a  good  fellow  enough,  with  a  certain  real  dignity 
of  character;  and  the  discipline  which  he  so  uncere- 
moniously rejected  had  by  this  time  (as  we  may  see 
from  the  official  records  of  his  Order)  grown  very 
generally  obsolete.  But  still  more  strange  to  the  earlier 
ideals  of  his  Order  was  the  next  cleric  on  Chaucer's 
list,  the  Friar.  Father  Hubert  is  one  of  those  jovial 
sinners  for  whom  old  Adam  has  always  a  lurking 
sympathy  even  when  the  new  Adam  feels  most  bound 
to  condemn  them.  Essentially  irreligious  even  in  his 
most  effective  religious  discourse ;  greedy,  unabashed, 
as  ubiquitous  and  intrusive  as  a  bluebottle  fly,  he  is 
yet  always  supple  and  ingratiating;  a  favourite  boon- 
companion  of  the  country  squires,  but  still  more  popular 
with  many  women ;  equally  free  and  easy  with  barmaids 
at  a  tavern  or  with  wife  and  daughter  in  a  citizen's 
hall.  The  Summoner  and  the  Pardoner,  parasites  that 
crawled  on  the  skirts  of  the  Church  and  plied  under 
her  broad  mantle  their  dubious  trade  in  sacred  things, 
had  not  even  the  Friar's  redeeming  features;  yet  we 
see  at  a  glance  their  common  humanity,  and  even 
recognize  in  our  modern  world  many  of  the  follies  on 
which  they  were  tempted  to  trade.  Two  figures  alone 
among  this  company  go  far  to  redeem  the  Church — the 
Scholar  and  the  Poor  Parson.  The  former's  disin- 
terested devotion  to  scholarship  has  passed  into  a 
proverb :  "  gladly  would  he  learn,  and  gladly  teach " 
— an  ideal  which  then,  as  always,  went  too  often  hand 
in  hand  with  leanness  and  poverty.  The  Parson,  con- 
tentedly poor  himself  and  full  of  compassion  for  his 
still  poorer  neighbours,  equally  ready  at  time  of  need 
to  help  the  struggling  sinner  or  to  "snib"  the  im- 
penitent rich  man,  has  often  tempted  earlier  com- 
mentators to  read  their  own  religious  prepossessions 
into  Cliaucer's  verse.     One  party  has  assumed  that  so 


A  p.\K'r\'  OK  i'ii.(;rims 

(Ki^()M    MS.  Ki  i^•.   I  ■'.  I),  ii  f.   14S) 


*' CANTERBURY   TALES"  149 

good  a  priest  must  have  been  a  Lollard,  or  Wycliffe 
himself;  while  others  have  contended  (with  even  less 
show  of  evidence,  as  we  shall  presently  see)  that  he 
represents  the  typical  orthodox  rector  or  vicar  of 
Chaucer's  time.  The  one  thing  of  which  we  may  be 
certain  is  that  Chaucer  knew  and  reverenced  goodness 
when  he  saw  it,  and  that  he  would  willingly  have 
subscribed  to  Thackeray's  humble  words,  "  For  myself, 
I  am  a  heathen  and  a  publican,  but  I  can't  help  thinking 
that  those  men  are  in  the  right."  In  the  Tales  them- 
selves, as  on  the  pilgrimage,  a  multitude  of  sins  are 
covered  by  this  ploughman's  brother,  of  whom  it  is 
written  that — 

Christes  lore,  and  His  apostles'  twelve, 

He  taught,  and  first  he  followed  it  him-selve. 

To  summarize  even  briefly  the  appearance  and 
character  of  the  remaining  eighteen  pilgrims  would  be 
too  long  a  task ;  but  it  must  be  noticed  how  infallible 
an  eye  Chaucer  had  for  just  the  touch  which  makes  a 
portrait  live.  The  Country  Squire,  looking  like  a  daisy 
with  his  fiery  face  and  white  beard ;  the  Sailor,  em- 
barrassed with  his  horse;  the  Wife  of  Bath,  "somedeal 
deaf,"  and  therefore  as  loud  in  her  voice  as  in  her  dress ; 
the  Summoner's  scurvy  eczema  under  his  thick  black 
eyebrows ;  the  Pardoner's  smooth  yellow  hair  and  eyes 
starting  out  of  his  head ;  the  thick-set  Miller,  with  a 
red-bristled  wart  on  the  end  of  his  nose,  and  a  bullet 
head  with  which  he  could  burst  in  a  door  at  one  charge ; 
and  his  rival  the  slender,  choleric  Reeve — 

Full  longe  were  his  leggtis  and  full  lean, 
Y-like  a  staff;  there  was  no  calf  y-seen  ! 

A  goodly  company,  indeed,  and  much  to  the  taste  of 
Harry  Bailey,  mine  host  of  the  Tabard,  whom  we  may 
pretty  safely  identify  with  an  actual  contemporary  and 
fellow  M.P.  of  Chaucer's.*     He  proposes,  therefore,  to 

*  Skeat,  v.,  p.  129.     "In  the  subsidy  Rolls  (1380-1)  for  Southwark, 
occurs  the  entry  '  Henri  Bayliff,  Ostyler  .  .  .  2j.'     In  the  Parliament  held 


150  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

be  their  guide  and  master  of  the  ceremonies  on  the 
road  to  Canterbury  and  back.  The  pilgrims  themselves 
shall  tell  tales  to  shorten  the  journey,  "  drawing  cut " 


A  while  coat  and  a  blue  hood  vveaicd  he, 
A  bagpipe  well  coulde  he  blow  and  sound, 
And  therewithal  he  brought  us  out  of  town. 

THE   MILLER 

(From  the  Ellesmcre  MS.) 

for  their  order ;  and  the  teller  of  the  best  tale  shall,  on 
their  return,  enjoy  a  supper  at  the  expense  of  the  rest — 

By  one  assent 
We  be  accorded  to  his  judgement  ; 
And  thereupon  the  wine  was  set  anon  ; 
We  drunken,  and  to  reste  went  each  one 
Withouten  any  longer  tarrying. 

A-morrow,  when  the  day  began  to  spring, 
Up  rose  the  host,  and  was  our  aller  cock,  [for  all  of  us 

And  gathered  us  together  in  a  flock.  .  .  . 

at  Westminster  (1376-7)  Henry  Bailly  was  one  of  the  representatives  for 
that  borough,  and  again,  in  the  Parliament  at  Gloucester,  2,  Rich.  II., 
the  name  occurs." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"CANTERBURY  TALES"— FIRST  AND 
SECOND  DAYS 

"  For  lo  !  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone  ;  the  flowers 
appear  on  the  earth  ;  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the 
voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land." — Solomon's  Song 

HERE,  then,  they  are  assembled  on  a  perfect  morn- 
ing of  English  spring,  with  London  streets 
awakening  to  life  behind  them,  and  the  open  road  in 
front.  Think  of  the  dayspring  from  on  high,  the  good 
brown  earth  and  tender  foliage,  smoke  curling  up  from 
cottage  chimneys,  pawing  steeds,  barking  dogs,  the 
cheerful  stirrup  -  cup ;  every  rider's  face  set  to  the 
journey  after  his  individual  mood,  when  at  last  the  Host 
had  successfully  gathered  his  flock — 

And  forth  we  ride,  a  little  more  than  pace, 
Unto  the  watering  of  Saint  Thomas. 

That  is,  to  the  little  brook  which  now  runs  underground 
near  the  second  milestone  on  the  Old  Kent  Road, 
remembered  only  in  the  name  of  St.  Thomas'  Road  and 
the  Thomas  a  Becket  Tavern.  Up  to  this  point  the 
party  had  been  enlivened  by  the  Miller's  bagpipe,  and 
Professor  Raleigh  has  justly  pointed  out  how  many 
musicians  there  are  in  Chaucer's  company  :  the  Squire ; 
the  Prioress  with  her  psalms,  "entuned  in  her  nose  full 
seemely";  the  Friar,  who  could  sing  so  well  to  his  own 
harp ;  the  Pardoner,  with  his  "  Come  hither,  love,  to 
me,"  and  the  Summoner,  who  accompanied  him  in  so 
"stiff"  a  bass.  By  St.  Thomas'  watering,  however, 
either  the  Miller  is  out  of  breath  or  the  party  are  out  of 
patience,  for  here  the  Host  reins  up,  and  reminds  them 


152      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

of  their  promise  to  tell  tales  on  the  way.  They  draw 
cuts,  and  the  longest  straw  (whether  by  chance  or  by 
Boniface's  sleight  of  hand)  falls  to  the  one  man  with 
whom  none  other  would  have  disputed  for  precedence. 
The  Knight,  with  ready  courtesy,  welcomed  the  choice 
"in  God's  name,"  and  rode  on,  bidding  the  company 
"hearken  what  I  say."  Let  us  not  inquire  too  closely 
how  far  every  word  was  audible  to  the  whole  thirty,  as 
they  clattered  and  splashed  along.  We  may  always  be 
sure  that  enough  was  heard  to  keep  the  general  interest 
alive,  and  it  may  be  charitably  hoped  that  the  two  nuns 
were  among  those  who  caught  least 

The  Knight's  tale  was  worthy  of  his  reputation — 
chivalrous,  dignified,  with  some  delicate  irony  and  many 
flights  of  lofty  poetry.  The  Host  laughed  aloud  for  joy 
of  this  excellent  beginning,  and  called  upon  the  Monk  for 
the  next  turn ;  but  here  suddenly  broke  in — 

The  Miller,  that  for-dronken  was  all  pale 

So  that  unnethe  upon  his  horse  he  sat  .  .  .  [scarcely 

And  swore  by  armijs  and  by  blood  and  bones 

'  I  can  a  noble  talc  for  the  nonce 

With  which  I  will  now  quit  the  Knightiis  tale.' 

Our  Hoste  saw  that  he  was  drunk  of  ale 
And  said,  '  abide,  Robin,  my  lieve  brother, 
Some  better  man  shall  tell  us  first  another  ; 
Abide,  and  let  us  worken  thriftily.' 

'By  Goddes  soul,'  quoth  he,  'that  will  not  I  ; 
For  I  will  speak,  or  dies  go  my  way.' 

Our  Host  answered  :  *  Tell  on,  a  devil  way  ! 
Thou  art  a  fool  ;  thy  wit  is  overcome.' 
'  Now  hearken,'  quoth  the  Miller,  '  all  and  some  ! 
But  first  I  make  a  protestatioun 

That  I  am  drunk,  I  know  it  by  my  soun  ;  [sound 

And  therefore,  if  that  I  misspeak  or  say, 

Wite  it  the  ale  of  Southwark,  I  you  pray  ;  [blame 

For  I  will  tell  a  legend  and  a  life 
Both  of  a  carpenter  and  of  his  wife.  .  .  .' 

The  Reeve  (who  is  himself  a  carpenter  also)  protests 
in  vain  against  such  slander  of  honest  folk  and  their 
wives.     Robin  Miller  has  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  and 


"CANTERBURY   TALES"  153 

plunges  now  headlong  into  his  tale  as  he  had  run  in  old 
times  against  the  door— a  "  churles  tale,"  but  told  with 
consummate  dramatic  effect,  and  recorded  by  Chaucer 
with  a  half-ironical  apology — 

And  therefore  every  gentle  wight  I  pray 
For  Goddes  love,  deem  ye  not  that  I  say 
Of  evil  intent,  but  that  I  must  rehearse 
Their  tales  alle,  be  they  better  or  worse, 
Or  elles  falsen  some  of  my  matere. 
And  therefore,  whoso  list  it  not  to  hear. 
Turn  over  the  leaf  and  choose  another  tale. 

The  Miller's  story  proved  an  apple  of  discord  in  its 
small  way,  but  poetically  effective  in  the  variety  which 
it  and  its  fellows  lent  to  the  journey — 

Diverse  folk  diversely  they  said, 
But  for  the  moste  part  they  laughed  and  played  ; 
Nor  at  this  tale  I  saw  no  man  him  grieve. 
But  it  were  onlyOsewold  the  Reeve," 

who,  though  chiefly  sensible  to  the  slur  upon  his  own 
profession,  lays  special  stress  on  the  indecorum  of  the 
Miller's  proceeding.  Some  men  (he  says)  are  like 
medlars,  never  ripe  till  they  be  rotten,  and  with  all 
the  follies  of  youth  under  their  grizzling  hairs — 

When  that  our  host  had  heard  this  sermoning, 

He  gan  to  speak  as  lordly  as  a  King  : 

He  saide  '  What  amounteth  all  this  wit  ? 

What  shall  we  speak  all  day  of  holy  writ  1  [why 

The  devil  made  a  Reeve  for  to  preach, 

And  of  a  cobbler  a  shipman  or  a  leech  ! 

Say  forth  thy  tale,  and  tarry  not  the  time, 

Lo,  Depeford,  and  it  is  halfway  prime. 

Lo  Greenewich,  there  many  a  shrew  is  in  ; 

It  were  all  time  thy  tale  to  begin.' 

The  story  records,  by  way  of  natural  revenge,  the 
domestic  misfortunes  of  a  Miller ;  and,  for  all  the  Reeve's 
moral  indignation,  it  is  as  essentially  "churlish"  as  its 
predecessor,  and  as  popular  with  at  least  one  section  of 
the  party — 


154  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

The  Cook  of  London,  while  the  Reeve  spake, 

For  joy,  him  thought,  he  clawed  him  on  the  back, 

'  Ha,  ha ! '  quoth  he, '  for  Christes  passioun, 

This  Miller  had  a  sharp  conclusion  .  .  . 

But  God  forbidde  that  we  stinten  here  ; 

And  therefore,  if  that  ye  vouchsafe  to  hear 

A  tale  of  me,  that  am  a  poore  man, 

I  will  you  tell  as  well  as  ever  I  can 

A  little  jape  that  fell  in  our  citie."  [jest 

The  Host  gives  leave  on  the  one  condition  that  the 
tale  shall  be  fresher  and  wholesomer  than  the  Cook's 
victuals  sometimes  are — 

'  For  many  a  pasty  hast  thou  letten  blood, 

And  many  a  Jack  of  Dover  hast  thou  sold  [meat  pie 

That  hath  been  twycs  hot  and  twyes  cold  ! 

Of  many  a  pilgrim  hast  thcu  Christiis  curse, 

For  of  thy  parsley  yet  they  fare  the  worse 

That  they  have  eaten  with  thy  stubble-goose  ; 

For  in  thy  shop  is  many  a  flye  loose  ! ' 

The  Cook's  "little  jape,"  however,  to  judge  by  its  com- 
mencement, vv^as  even  more  fly-blown  than  his  stubble- 
goose.  The  Miller  seemed  to  have  let  loose  every 
riotous  element,  and  to  have  started  the  company  upon 
a  downward  slope  of  accelerating  impropriety.  But 
this  to  Chaucer  would  have  been  more  than  a  sin,  it 
would  have  been  an  obvious  artistic  blunder;  and  when 
the  ribaldry  begins  in  earnest,  the  best  manuscripts 
break  off  with  "  of  this  Cook's  tale  maked  Chaucer  no 
more."  In  other  MSS.  the  Cook  himself  breaks  off 
in  disgust  at  his  own  story,  and  tells  the  heroic  tale  of 
Gamelyn,  which  Chaucer  may  possibly  have  meant  to 
rewrite  for  the  series.  Here  end  the  tales  of  the  first 
day  ;  incomplete  enough,  as  indeed  the  whole  book  is 
only  a  fragment  of  Chaucer's  mighty  plan.  The  pilgrims 
probably  slept  at  Dartford,  fifteen  miles  from  London. 

Next  morning  the  Host  seems  to  have  found  it  hard 
to  keep  his  team  together ;  it  is  ten  o'clock  when  he 
begins  to  bewail  the  time  already  wasted,  and  prays  the 
Man  of  Law  to  tell  a  tale.     The  lawyer  assents  in  a 


"CANTERBURY  TALES"  155 

speech  interlarded  with  legal  French  and  legal  meta- 
phors, and  referring  at  some  length  to  Chaucer's  other 
poems.  He  then  launches  into  a  formal  prologue,  and 
finally  tells  the  pious  Custance's  strange  adventures  by 
land  and  sea.  This,  if  not  so  generally  popular  with 
the  company  as  other  less  decorous  tales  before  and 
after  it,  enjoyed  at  least  a  genuine  succes  (fesh'me.  There- 
upon followed  one  of  the  liveliest  of  all  Chaucer's 
dialogues.  The  Host  called  upon  the  Parish  Priest  for 
a  tale,  adjuring  him  "for  Goddes  bones"  and  "by 
Goddes  dignitie."  " Benedictie  f "  replied  the  Parson; 
"what  aileth  the  man,  so  sinfully  to  swear?"  upon 
which  the  Host  promptly  scents  "a  Lollard  in  the 
wind,"  and  ironically  bids  his  companions  prepare  for 
a  sermon.*  The  Shipman,  professionally  indifferent 
to  oaths  of  whatever  description,  and  bold  in  conscious 
innocence  of  all  puritanical  taint,  here  interposes  an 
emphatic  veto — 

*  Nay,  by  my  father's  soul,  that  shall  he  not,' 

Saide  the  Shipman  ;  '  here  he  shall  not  preach. 

He  shall  no  gospel  glosen  here  nor  teach.  [expound 

We  believe  all  in  the  great  God,'  quoth  he, 

'  He  woulde  sowen  some  difficultee, 

Or  springen  cockle  in  our  cleane  corn  ; 

And  therefore,  Host,  I  warnc  thee  beforn, 

My  jolly  body  shal  a  tale  tell, 

And  I  shall  clinken  you  so  merry  a  bell 

That  I  shall  waken  all  this  companye  ; 

But  it  shall  not  be  of  philosophye, 

"Nor  physz'ces,  nor  termes  quaint  of  law, 

There  is  but  little  Latin  in  my  maw.' 

The  bluff  skipper  is  as  good  as  his  word ;  his  tale  is 
frankly  unprofessional,  and  its  infectious  jollity  must 
almost  have  appealed  to  the  Parson  himself,  even  though 
it  reeked  with  the  most  orthodox  profanity,  and  showed 
no  point  of  contact  with  puritanism  except  a  low  estimate 
of  average  monastic  morals. 

*  The  too  strict  avoidance  of  oaths  had  long  been  authoritatively 
noted  as  suggesting  a  presumption  of  heresy  ;  here  (as  in  so  many  other 
places)  Chaucer  admirably  illustrates  formal  and  official  documents. 


156      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

'Well  said,  by  Corpus  Domitius,^  quoth  our  Host, 
'  Now  longii  mayest  thou  saile  by  the  coast, 
Sir  gentle  master,  gentle  mariner  !  .  .  . 
Draw  ye  no  monkiis  more  unto  your  inn  ! 

But  now  pass  on,  and  let  us  seek  about 
Who  shall  now  telle  first,  of  all  this  rout, 
Another  tale  ; '  and  with  that  word  he  said. 
As  courteously  as  it  had  been  a  maid, 
'  My  lady  Prioressc,  by  your  leave. 
So  that  I  wist  I  shoulde  you  not  grieve, 
I  woulde  deemen  that  ye  tellen  should 
A  tale  next,  if  so  were  that  ye  would. 
Now  will  ye  vouchesafe,  my  lady  dear  ? ' 

'  Gladly,'  quoth  she,  and  said  as  ye  shall  hear. 

The  gentle  lady  tells  that  charming  tale  which  Burne- 
Jones  so  loved  and  adorned,  of  the  little  scholar  murdered 
by  Jews  for  his  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
sustained  miraculously  by  her  power.  Chaucer  loved 
the  Prioress ;  and  he  makes  us  feel  the  reverent  hush 
which  followed  upon  her  tale — 

When  said  was  all  this  miracle,  every  man 

So  sober  was,  that  wonder  was  to  see. 

Till  that  our  Hostc  japen  then  began, 

And  then  at  erst  he  looked  upon  me. 

And  saidii  thus :  '  What  man  art  thou  ? '  quoth  he  ; 

'  Thou  lookest  as  thou  wouldest  find  an  hare, 

For  ever  upon  the  ground  I  see  thee  stare. 

Approachii  near,  and  look  up  merrily. 

Now  ware  you,  sirs,  and  let  this  man  have  place  ! 

He  in  the  waist  is  shape  as  well  as  I  ; 

This  were  a  puppet  in  an  arm  to  embrace 

For  any  woman,  small  and  fair  of  face  ! 

He  seemeth  elvish  by  his  countenance, 

For  unto  no  wight  doth  he  dalliance. 

Say  now  somewhat,  since  other  folk  have  said  ; 
Tell  us  a  tale  of  mirth,  and  that  anon.  .  .  .' 

Chaucer  executes  himself  as  willingly  as  the  rest, 
and  enters  upon  a  long-winded  tale  of  knight-errantry, 
parodied  from  the  romances  in  vogue ;  but  the  Age  of 
Chivalry    is   already  half   past.      Before    the   poet  has 


"CANTERBURY   TALES  ^'  157 

even  finished  the  preliminary  catalogue   of  his   hero's 
accomplishments — 

'  No  more  of  this,  for  Goddes  dignitee,' 

Quoth  our  Hoste,  'for  thou  makest  me 

So  weary  of  thy  very  lewedness  [folly 

That  (all  so  wisely  God  my  soule  bless) 

Mine  eares  achen  of  thy  drasty  speech  [trashy 

Now,  such  a  rhyme  the  devil  I  biteche  !  [commit  to 

This  may  well  be  rhyme  doggerel,'  quoth  he. 

Chaucer  suffers  the  interruption  with  only  the 
mildest  of  protests,  and  proceeds  to  tell  instead  "a  lytel 
thing  in  prose,"  a  translation  of  a  French  translation  of 
along-winded  moral  allegory  by  an  Italian  friar-preacher. 
The  monumental  dulness  of  this  "  Tale  of  Melibee  and 
of  his  wife  Prudence  "  is  no  doubt  a  further  stroke  of 
satire,  and  Chaucer  must  have  felt  himself  amply  avenged 
in  recounting  this  story  to  the  bitter  end.  Yet  there 
was  a  moral  in  it  which  appealed  to  the  Host,  who 
burst  out — 

...  as  I  am  a  faithful  man 

And  by  that  precious  corpus  Madrian  [St.  Mathurin 

I  hadde  liever  than  a  barrel  ale 

That  goode  lief  my  wife  had  heard  this  tale. 

For  she  is  nothing  of  such  patience 

As  was  this  Melibeus'  wife  Prudence. 

By  Goddes  bones,  when  I  beat  my  knaves. 

She  bringeth  me  forth  the  greate  clubbed  staves, 

And  crieth  *  Slay  the  dogges  every  one. 

And  break  them,  bothe  back  and  every  bone  ! ' 

And  if  that  any  neighebour  of  mine, 

Will  not  in  churche  to  my  wife  incline, 

Or  be  so  hardy  to  her  to  trespass, 

When  she  com'th  home  she  rampeth  in  my  face 

And  crieth  '  False  coward,  wreak  thy  wife  ! 

By  corpus  bones  !     I  will  have  thy  knife. 

And  thou  shalt  have  my  distaff  and  go  spin  ! ' 

The  Host  has  plenty  more  to  say  on  this  theme  ;  but 
presently  he  remembers  his  duties,  and  calls  upon  the 
Monk  for  a  tale,  though  not  without  another  long 
digression  on  monastic  comforts  and  monastic  morals, 


158  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

from  the  point  of  view  of  the  man  in  the  street.  The 
Monk  takes  all  his  broad  jesting  with  the  good  humour 
of  a  man  who  is  used  to  it,  and  offers  to  tell  some 
tragedies,  "of  which  I  have  an  hundred  in  my  cell." 
After  a  few  harmless  pedantries  by  way  of  prologue,  he 
proceeds  to  reel  off  instalments  of  his  hundred  tragedies 
with  the  steady,  self-satisfied,  merciless  drone  of  a  man 
whose  office  and  cloth  generally  assure  him  of  a  patient 
hearing.  Here,  however,  we  are  no  longer  in  the 
minster,  but  in  God's  own  sunlight  and  fresh  air;  the 
Pilgrim's  Way  is  Liberty  Hall ;  and  while  Dan  Piers 
is  yet  moralizing  with  damnable  iteration  over  the  ninth 
of  his  fallen  heroes,  the  Knight  suddenly  interrupts 
him — the  Knight  himself,  who  never  yet  no  villainy  ne 
said,  in  all  his  life,  unto  no  manner  wight! 

'  Ho  !  '  quoth  the  Knight,  'good  sir,  no  more  of  this  ! 
What  ye  have  said  is  right  enough,  ywis  [certainly 

And  muckle  more  ;  for  httle  heaviness 
Is  right  enough  to  many  folk,  I  guess. 
I  say  for  me  it  is  a  great  dis-ease, 
Where  as  men  have  been  in  great  wealth  and  ease 
To  hearen  of  their  sudden  fall,  alas  ! 
And  the  contrary  is  joy  and  great  solace  .  .  . 
And  of  such  thing  were  goodly  for  to  tell.' 

'Yea,'  quoth  our  Host,  'by  Sainte  Paulijs  Bell  I  .  .  . 
Sir  Monk,  no  more  of  this,  so  God  you  bless, 
Your  tale  annoycth  all  this  companye  ; 
Such  talking  is  not  worth  a  butterflye. 
For  therein  is  there  no  desport  nor  game. 
Wherefore,  sire  Monk,  or  Dan  Piers  by  your  name, 
I  pray  you  heartily,  tell  us  somewhat  else  ; 
For  surely,  but  for  clinking  of  your  bells    . 
That  on  your  bridle  hang  on  every  side. 
By  Heaven's  King,  that  for  us  alle  died, 
I  should  ere  this  have  fallen  down  for  sleep. 
Although  the  slough  had  never  been  so  deep  .  .  . 
Sir,  say  somewhat  of  hunting,  I  you  pray.' 

'  Nay,'  c|uoth  this  Monk,  '  1  have  no  lust  to  play  ; 
Now  let  another  tell,  as  I  have  told.' 

Then  spake  our  Host  with  rude  speech  and  bold. 
And  said  unto  the  Nunncs  Priest  anon, 
'  Come  near,  thou  Priest,  come  hither,  thou  Sir  John  '. 
Tell  us  such  thing  as  may  our  heartiis  glad  ; 


"CANTERBURY  TALES"  159 

Be  blithe,  though  thou  ride  upon  a  jade. 
What  though  thine  horse  be  bothe  foul  and  lean  ? 
If  it  will  serve  thee,  reck  thou  not  a  bean  ; 
Look  that  thine  heart  be  merry  evermo  ! ' 

The  domestic  confessor  of  stately  Madame  Eglantine 
is  possibly  accustomed  to  sudden  and  peremptory  com- 
mands ;  in  any  case,  he  obeys  readily  enough  here. 
"'Yes,  sir,'  quoth  he,  'yes,  Host'"  .  .  .  and  proceeds 
to  recount  that  tragi-comedy  of  Reynard  and  Chanti- 
cleer which,  well-worn  as  the  plot  is,  shows  off  to 
perfection  many  of  Chaucer's  rarest  artistic  qualities. 

The  tale  is  told,  and  the  Host  shows  his  appreciation 
by  saluting  the  Nuns'  Priest  with  the  same  broad  gibes 
and  innuendoes  with  which  he  had  already  greeted 
the  Monk.  Here  probably  ends  the  second  day;  the 
Pilgrims  would  sleep  at  Rochester,  which  was  in  sight 
when  the  Monk  began  his  Tale. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"CANTERBURY  TALES"— THIRD   AND   FOURTH 

DAYS 

"...  quasi  peregrin,  che  si  ricrea 
Nel  tempio  del  suo  voto  riguardando, 
E  spera  gia  ridir  com'  ello  stea." 

"  Paradise,"  xxxi.,  43 

ON  the  morning  of  the  third  day  we  find  the 
Physician  speaking ;  he  tells  the  tragedy  of 
Virginia,  not  straight  from  Livy,  whom  Chaucer  had 
probably  never  had  a  chance  of  reading,  but  from  its 
feebler  echo  in  the  "  Roman  de  la  Rose."  Even  so, 
however,  the  pity  of  it  comes  home  to  his  hearers. 

Our  Hoste  gan  to  swear  as  he  were  wood ;  [mad 

'  Harrow  ! '  quoth  he,  '  by  nailes  and  by  blood  ! 

This  was  a  false  churl  and  a  false  justice  !  .  .  . 

By  Corpus  bones  !  but  I  have  triacle  [medicinal  syrup 

Or  else  a  draught  of  moist  and  corny  ale, 

Or  but  I  hear  anon  a  merry  tale. 

Mine  heart  is  lost,  for  pity  of  this  maid. 

Thou  bel  ami,  thou  Pardoner,'  he  said 

'  Tell  us  some  mirth,  or  japes,  right  anon  !  ' 

'  It  shall  be  done,'  quoth  he,  '  by  saint  Ronyon  ! 
But  first '  (quoth  he)  '  here  at  this  ale  stake 
I  will  both  drink  and  eaten  of  a  cake.' 
And  right  anon  the  gentles  gan  to  cry 
'  Nay  !  let  him  tell  us  of  no  ribaldry.  .  .  .' 
'  I  grant,  ywis,  quoth  he  ;  'but  I  must  think 
Upon  some  honest  thing,  the  while  I  drink.'  » 

The  suspicion  of  the  "gentles"  might  seem  prema- 
ture ;  but  they  evidently  suspected  this  pardon-monger 
of  too  copious  morning-draughts  already,  and  the  tenor 
of  his  whole  prologue  must  have  confirmed  their  fears. 
With  the  cake  in  his  mouth,  and  the  froth  of  the  pot 


"CANTERBURY   TALES"  KJl 

on  his  lips,  he  takes  as  his  text,  Radix  malonmt  est 
cupiditas,  "  Covetousness  is  the  root  of  all  evil,"  and 
exposes  with  cynical  frankness  the  tricks  of  his  trade. 
By  a  judicious  use  of  "my  longe  crystal  stones,  y- 
crammed  full  of  cloutes  and  of  bones,"  I  make  (says 
he)  my  round  lOO  marks  a  year ;  *  and,  when  the  people 
have  offered,  then  I  mount  the  pulpit,  nod  east  and  west 
upon  the  congregation  like  a  dove  on  a  barn-gable,  and 
preach  such  tales  as  this.  .  .  .  Hereupon  follows  his 
tale  of  the  three  thieves  who  all  murdered  each  other 
for  the  same  treasure.  It  is  told  with  admirable  spirit ; 
and  now  the  Pardoner,  carried  away  by  sheer  force  of 
habit,  calls  upon  the  company  to  kiss  his  relics,  make 
their  offerings,  and  earn  his  indulgences  piping-hot 
from  Rome.  Might  not  a  horse  stumble  here,  at  this 
very  moment,  and  break  the  neck  of  some  unlucky 
pilgrim,  who  would  then  bitterly  regret  his  lost  oppor- 
tunities in  hell  or  purgatory?  Strike,  then,  while  the 
iron  is  hot — 

I  counsel  that  our  Host  here  shall  begin, 
For  he  is  most  enveloped  in  sin  ! 
.  .  .  Come  forth,  sir  Host,  and  offer  first  anon, 
And  thou  shalt  kiss  my  relics  every  one  .  .  . 
Yea,  for  a  groat !  unbuckle  anon  thy  purse. 

'  Nay,  nay,'  quoth  he,  '  then  have  I  Christe's  curse  .  .  . 

The  Host,  as  his  opening  words  may  suggest, 
answers  to  the  purpose,  easy  words  to  understand,  but 
not  so  easy  to  print  here  in  the  broad  nakedness  of 
their  scorn  for  the  Pardoner  and  all  his  works — 

This  Pardoner  answered  not  a  word  ; 
So  wroth  he  was,  no  worde  would  he  say. 

'  Now,'  quoth  our  Host,  '  I  will  no  longer  play 
With  thee,  nor  with  none  other  angry  man,' 

But  right  anon  the  worthy  Knight  began 
(When  that  he  saw  that  all  the  people  lough)  [laughed 

'  No  more  of  this,  for  it  is  right  enough  !  [quite 

Sir  Pardoner,  be  glad  and  merry  of  cheer  ; 
And  ye,  sir  Host,  that  be  to  me  so  dear, 

*  About  ^rooo  in  modern  money. 


162  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

I  pray  now  that  ye  kiss  the  Pardoner  ; 
And,  Pardoner,  I  pray  thee  draw  thee  near, 
And,  as  we  diden,  let  us  laugh  and  play.' 
Anon  they  kist,  and  riden  forth  their  way. 

The  thread  of  the  tales  here  breaks  off;  and  then 
suddenly  we  find  the  Wife  of  Bath  talking,  talking, 
talking,  almost  without  end  as  she  was  without  begin- 
ning.   Her  prologue  is  half  a  dozen  tales  in  itself,  longer 


upon  an  ambler  easily  she  sat, 
Y-wimpled  well,  and  on  her  head  an  hat 
As  broad  as  is  a  buckler  or  a  targe  ; 
A  foot-mantle  about  her  hippes  large, 
And  on  her  feet  a  pair  of  spurres  sharp. 

TIIK   WIFK   OF    BATH 
.From  the  Ellesmere  MS.) 

almost,  and  certainly  wittier,  than  all  the  other  pro- 
logues put  together.  The  theme  is  marriage,  and  her 
mouth  speaks  from  the  abundance  of  her  heart.  Here, 
indeed,  we  have  God's  plenty :  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  are 
set  before  us  in  one  dish,  not  to  speak  of  creeping 
things :  it  is  in  truth  a  strong  mess,  savoury  to  those 
that    have   the   stomach    for   it,    but   reeking   of  garlic. 


"CANTERBURY   TALES"  163 

crammed  with  oaths  like  the  Shipman's  talk ;  a  sample 
of  the  Eternal  Feminine  undisguised  and  unrefined,  in 
its  most  glaring  contrast  with  the  only  other  two  women 
of  the  party,  the  Prioress  and  her  fellow-nun — 

Men  may  divine,  and  glosen  up  and  down, 
But  well  I  wot,  express,  withouten  lie, 
God  bade  us  for  to  wax  and  multiply  ; 
That  gentle  text  can  I  well  understand. 
Eke,  well  I  wot,  he  said  that  mine  husband 
Should  leave  father  and  mother,  and  take  me  ; 
But  of  no  number  mention  made  he 
Of  bigamy  or  of  octogamy, 
Why  shoulde  men  speak  of  it  villainy  ? 

The  good  wife  tells  how  she  has  outlived  five 
husbands,  and  proclaims  her  readiness  for  a  sixth.  The 
five  martyrs  are  sketched  with  a  master-touch,  and  are 
divided  into  categories  according  to  their  obedience  or 
disobedience.  But,  with  all  their  variety  of  disposition, 
time  and  matrimony  had  tamed  even  the  most  stubborn 
of  them ;  even  that  clerk  of  Oxford  whose  earlier  wont 
had  been  to  read  aloud  nightly  by  the  fire  from  a  Book 
of  Bad  Women — 

.  .  .  And  when  I  saw  he  woulde  never  fine  [finish 

To  readen  on  this  cursed  book  all  night, 

All  suddenly  three  leaves  have  I  plight  [plucked 

Out  of  his  book,  right  as  he  read  ;  and  eke 

I  with  my  fist  so  took  him  on  the  cheek 

That  in  our  fire  he  fell  backward  adown  ; 

And  up  he  start  as  doth  a  wood  lioun  [mad 

And  with  his  fist  he  smote  me  on  the  head. 

That  in  the  floor  I  lay  as  I  were  dead  .  .  . 

But  the  quarrels  of  lovers  are  the  renewal  of  love 
and  when  the  husband  had  been  brought,  half  by 
violence  and  half  by  cajolery,  to  give  his  wife  her  own 
way  in  everything,  then — 

After  that  day  we  never  had  debate. 
God  help  me  so,  I  was  to  him  as  kind 
As  any  wife  from  Denmark  unto  Ind. 

For  all  social    purposes,  as  we  have   said,  this  was 


164  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

the  only  woman  of  the  company ;  and  where  there  is 
one  woman  there  are  always  two  men  as  ready  to 
quarrel  over  her  as  if  she  were  Helen  of  Troy.  More- 
over, in  this  case,  professional  jealousies  were  also  at 
work.  Already  in  the  middle  of  her  prologue  the 
Summoner  had  fallen  into  familiar  dialogue  with  this 
merry  wife;  and  now,  at  the  end  — 

The  Friar  laughed  when  he  had  heard  all  this  ; 
'  Now,  dame,'  quoth  he,  '  so  have  I  joy  or  bliss, 
This  is  a  long  preamble  of  a  tale  ! ' 

And  when  the  Summoner  heard  the  Friar  gale  [cry  out 

*  Lo,'  quoth  the  Summoner,  Goddes  armes  two  ! 
A  friar  will  intermit  him  ever-mo.  [interfere 

Lo,  goode  men,  a  fly,  and  eke  a  frere 
Will  fall  in  every  dishe  and  matere. 
What  speak'st  thou  of  a  "  preambulation  "? 
What  ?  amble,  or  trot,  or  peace,  or  go  sit  down  ! 
Thou  lettest  our  disport  in  this  manure.' 

*  Yea,  wilt  thou  so,  sir  Summoner  ?  '  quoth  the  Frere  ; 
'  Now,  by  my  faith,  I  shall,  ere  that  I  go. 

Tell  of  a  Summoner  such  a  tale  or  two 
That  all  the  folk  shall  laughen  in  this  place.' 

*  Now  elles,  Friar,  I  beshrew  thy  face,'  [curse 
Quoth  this  Summoner,  '  and  I  beshrewe  me, 

But  if  I  telle  tales,  two  or  three. 

Of  friars,  ere  I  come  to  Sittingbourne, 

That  I  shall  make  thine  heartc  for  to  mourn. 

For  well  I  wot  thy  patience  is  gone.' 

Our  Hoste  cri^d  '  Peace  !  and  that  anon  ;' 
And  saide  :  '  Let  the  woman  tell  her  tale  ; 
Ye  fare  as  folk  that  drunken  be  of  ale. 
Do,  dame,  tell  forth  your  tale,  and  that  is  best.' 

'All  ready,  sir,'  quoth  she,  'right  as  you  list. 
If  I  have  licence  of  this  worthy  Frere.' 

'  Yes,  dame,'  quoth  he,  '  tell  forth,  and  I  will  hear.' 

The  lady,  having  thus  definitely  notified  her  choice 
between  the  rivals  (on  quite  other  grounds,  as  the  next 
few  lines  show,  than  those  of  religion  or  morality), 
proceeds  to  tell  her  tale  on  the  theme  that  nothing  is 
so  dear  to  the  female  heart  as  "  sovereignty "  or 
"master3\"  Then  the  quarrel  blazes  up  afresh,  and 
the    Friar  (after   an   insulting   prologue   for  which  the 


"CANTERBURY  TALES"  165 

Host  calls  him  to  order)  tells  a  story  which  is,  from 
first  to  last,  a  bitter  satire  on  the  whole  tribe  of 
Summoners.  Then  the  Summoner,  "quaking  like  an 
aspen  leaf  for  ire,"  stands  up  in  his  stirrups  and  claims 
to  be  heard  in  turn.  His  prologue,  which  by  itself 
might  suffice  to  turn  the  tables  on  his  enemy,  is  a 
broad  parody  of  those  revelations  to  devout  Religious 
which  announced  how  the  blessed  souls  of  their  par- 
ticular Order  (for  the  Friars  were  not  alone  in  this 
egotism)  enjoyed  for  their  exclusive  use  some  choice 
and  peculiar  mansion  in  heaven — under  the  skirts  of 
the  Virgin's   mantle,  for  instance,  or   even  within   the 


His  eyen  twinkled  in  his  head  aright 
As  do  the  starres  in  a  frosty  night. 

THE    FRIAR 

(From  the  Ellesmere  MS.) 

wound  of  their  Saviour's  side.  Then  begins  the  tale 
itself  of  a  Franciscan  Stiggins  on  his  daily  rounds, 
and  of  the  "  olde  churl,  with  lockes  hoar,"  who  at  one 
stroke  blasphemed  the  whole  convent,  and  took  ample 
change  out  of  Friar  John  for  many  a  good  penny  or 
fat  meal  given  in  the  past,  and  for  much  friction  in  his 
conjugal  relations.  The  whole  is  told  with  inimitable 
humour,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  w-e  hear  nothing 
of  the  comments  with  which  it  was  received.  At  this 
point  comes  another  gap  in  Chaucer's  plan. 


166      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

Then  suddenly  our  Host  calls  upon  the  Clerk  of 
Oxford — 

Ye  ride  as  still  and  coy  as  doth  a  maid, 
Were  newly  spoused,  sitting  at  the  board  ; 
This  day  ne  heard  I  of  your  tongue  a  word  .  .  . 
For  Goddes  sake,  as  be  of  better  cheer  ! 
It  is  no  time  for  to  study  here. 

The  Clerk,  thus  rudely  shaken  from  his  meditations, 
tells  the  story  of  Patient  Griselda,  which  he  had  "learned 
at  Padua,  of  a  worthy  clerk  .  .  .  Francis  Petrarch,  the 
laureate  poet."  The  good  Clerk  softens  down  much  of 
that  which  most  shocks  the  modern  mind  in  this  truly 
medieval  conception  of  wifely  obedience  ;  and,  as  a  con- 
firmed bachelor,  he  adds  an  ironical  postscript  which  is 
as  clever  as  anything  Chaucer  ever  wrote.*  We  must 
revere  the  heroine,  but  despair  of  finding  her  peer — 

Griseld*  is  dead,  and  eke  her  patience. 
And  both  at  once  buried  in  Itayle. 

So  begins  this  satirical  ballad,  and  goes  on  to  bid  the 
wife  of  the  present  day  to  enjoy  herself  at  her  husband's 
expense — 

Be  aye  of  cheer  as  light  as  leaf  on  lind,  [lime-tree 

And  let  him  care  and  weep,  and  wring  and  wail  ! 

The  last  line  rouses  a  sad  echo  in  one  heart  at  least, 
for  the  Merchant  had  been  wedded  but  two  months — 

'Weeping  and  wailing,  care  and  other  sorrow, 
I  know  enou^'h,  on  even  and  a-morrow  ' 
(Hioth  the  Merchant,  'and  so  do  other  more 
That  wedded  be  .  .  .' 

His  tale  turns  accordingly  on  the  misadventures  of  an 
old  knight  who  had  been  foolish  enough  to  marry  a 
girl  in  her  teens.     Upon  this   the  Host   congratulates 

*  "  Its  unsuitableness  to  the  Clerk  has  often  been  noticed,"  writes  Mr. 
Pollard  ;  but  surely  those  who  find  fault  here  have  forgotten  the  obvious 
truth  voiced  by  the  Wife  of  Bath,  "  For  trust  ye  well,  it  is  impossible  that 
any  clerk  will  speake  good  of  wives." 


"CANTERBURY  TALES ^'  l6t 

himself  that  his  wife,  with  all  her  shrewishness  and 
other  vices  more,  is  "as  true  as  any  steel."  Here 
ends  the  third  day;  the  travellers  probably  slept  at 
the  Pilgrim's  House  at  Ospringe,  parts  of  which  stand 
still  as  Chaucer  saw  it. 

Next  morning  the  Squire  is  first  called  upon  to 

...  say  somewhat  of  love  ;  for  certes  ye 
Do  ken  thereon  as  much  as  any  man. 

He  modestly  disclaims  the  compliment,  and  tells  (or 
rather  leaves  half  told)  the  story  of  Cambuscan,  with 
the  magic  ring  and  mirror  and  horse  of  brass.  Chaucer 
had  evidently  intended  to  finish  the  story ;  for  the 
Franklin  is  loud  in  praise  of  the  young  man's  eloquence, 
and  sighs  to  mark  the  contrast  with  his  own  son,  who, 
in  spite  of  constant  paternal  "snybbings,"  haunts  dice 
and  low  company,  and  shows  no  ambition  to  learn  of 
"gentillesse."  "Straw  for  your  'gentillesse,'  quoth  our 
Host,"  and  forthwith  demands  a  tale  from  the  Franklin, 
who,  with  many  apologies  for  his  want  of  rhetoric,  tells 
admirably  a  Breton  legend  of  chivalry  and  magic. 

Another  gap  brings  us  to  the  Second  Nun,  who  tells 
the  tale  of  St.  Cecilia  from  the  Golden  Legend,  with 
a  prefatory  invocation  to  the  Virgin  translated  from 
Dante.  By  the  time  this  is  ended  the  pilgrims  are  five 
miles  further  on,  at  Boughton-under-Blee.  Here,  at  the 
foot  of  the  hilly  forest  of  Blean,  with  only  eight  more 
miles  before  them  to  Canterbury,  they  are  startled  by 
the  clattering  of  horse-hoofs  behind  them.  It  was  a 
Canon  Regular  with  a  Yeoman  at  his  heels.*  The  man 
had  seen  the  pilgrims  at  daybreak,  and  warned  his 
master;  and  the  two  had  ridden  hard  to  overtake  so 
merry  a  company.  While  the  Canon  greeted  the 
pilgrims,  our  Host  questioned  his  Yeoman,  who  first 
obscurely  hinted,  and  then  began  openly  to  relate,  such 

*  This  highly  dramatic  addition  of  the  Canon  and  his  Yeoman  is 
probably  an  afterthought  of  Chaucer's,  who  had  very  likely  himself 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  some  such  impostor. 


168     CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

things  as  made  the  Canon  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
"flee  away  for  very  sorrow  and  shame."  The  Yeoman 
is  now  only  too  glad  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  He 
has  been  seven  years  with  this  monastic  alchemist,  who 
has  fallen  meanwhile  from  one  degree  of  poverty  to 
another ;  half-cheat,  half-dupe,  with  a  thousand  tricks 
for  cozening  folk  of  their  money,  but  always  wasting 
his  own  on  the  search  for  the  philosopher's  stone. 
Meanwhile,  after  ruinous  expenses  and  painful  care, 
every  experiment  ends  in  the  same  way  :  "  the  pot  to- 
breaketh,  and  farewell,  all  is  go  ! "  The  experimenters 
pick  themselves  up,  look  round  on  the  mass  of  splinters 
and  the  dinted  walls,  and  begin  to  quarrel  over  the  cause — 

Some  said  it  was  along  on  the  fire  making, 

Some  saide  Nay,  it  was  on  the  blowing, 

(Then  was  I  feared,  for  that  was  mine  office,) 

'  Straw  ! '  quoth  the  third,  '  ye  be  lewed  and  nice   [ignorant  and  foolish 

It  was  not  tempered  as  it  ought  to  be.' 

'Nay,'  quoth  the  fourthe,  'stint  and  hearken  me  ; 

Because  our  fire  ne  was  not  made  of  beech, 

That  is  the  cause,  and  other  none,  so  I  theech  ! '         [so  may  I  thrive  ! 

At  last  the  mess  is  swept  up,  the  few  recognizable 
fragments  of  metal  are  put  aside  for  further  use,  another 
furnace  is  built,  and  the  indefatigable  Canon  concocts 
a  fresh  hell- broth,  sweeping  away  all  past  failures 
with  the  incurable  optimism  of  a  monomaniac,  "  There 
was  defect  in  somewhat,  well  I  wot."  Many  of  the 
fraternity,  however,  are  arrant  knaves,  without  the 
least  redeeming  leaven  of  folly ;  and  the  Yeoman  goes 
on  to  tell  the  tricks  by  which  such  an  one  beguiled 
a  "  sotted  priest  "  who  had  set  his  heart  on  this  unlawful 
gain. 

By  this  time  the  company  was  come  to  "  Bob  Up  and 
Down,"  which  was  probably  the  pilgrims'  nickname  for 
Upper  Harbledown.  Here  our  Host  found  the  Cook 
straggling  behind,  asleep  on  his  nag  in  broad  daylight — 

'Awake,  thou  Cook,'  quoth  he,  '  God  give  thee  sorrow  ! 
What  aileth  thee  to  sleepii  by  the  morrow  ? 
Hast  thou  had  tleas  all  night,  or  art  thou  drunk  ? ' 


"CANTERBURY   TALES"  169 

The  Cook  opens  his  mouth,  and  at  once  compels  his 
neighbours  to  adopt  the  latter  and  less  charitable  theory. 
He  is  evidently  in  no  state  for  story-telling;  so  the 
Manciple  offers  himself  instead,  not  without  a  few  broad 
jests  at  his  fellow's  infirmity — 

And  with  this  speech  the  Cook  was  wroth  and  wraw,     [indignant 

And  on  the  manciple  he  'gan  nodde  fast 

For  lack  of  speech  ;  and  down  the  horse  him  cast, 

Where  as  he  lay  till  that  men  up  him  took  ! 

The  Manciple,  fearing  lest  the  Cook's  resentment 
should  prompt  some  future  revenge  in  the  way  of 
business,  pulled  out  a  gourd  of  wine,  coaxed  another 
draught  into  the  drunken  man,  and  earned  his  half- 
articulate  gratitude.  Then  he  told  the  fable  of  the  crow 
from  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 

The  tale  was  ended,  and  the  sun  began  to  sink,  for 
it  was  four  o'clock.*  The  cavalcade  began  to  "enter  at 
a  thorpe's  end  " — no  doubt  the  village  of  Harbledown, 
the  last  before  Canterbury,  famous  for  the  Black  Prince's 
Well  and  for  the  relics  of  St.  Thomas  at  its  leper 
hospital.  Here  at  last  the  pilgrims  remember  the  real 
object  of  their  journey.  The  Host  lays  aside  his  oaths 
(all  but  one,  "  Cokkes  bones ! "  which  slips  out  unawares) 
and  looks  round  now  for  the  hitherto  neglected  Parson, 
upon  whom  he  calls  for  a  "fable." 

This  Parson  answered  all  at  once 
'  Thou  gettest  fable  none  y-told  for  me, 
For  Paul,  that  writeth  unto  Timothee, 

Reproveth  them  that  weyven  soothfastness  [depart  from 

And  tellen  fables  and  such  wretchedness  .  .  . 
I  cannot  geste  "  rum,  ram,  ruf"  by  letter,! 
Nor,  God  wot,  rhyme  hold  I  but  little  better  ; 
And  therefore  if  you  list — I  will  not  glose — 
I  will  you  tell  a  merry  tale  in  prose 

*  There  is,  as  Prof.  Skeat  points  out,  an  inconsistency  here  in  the 
text.  We  can  see  from  Group  H.,  1.  i6  that  Chaucer  had  at  one  time 
meant  the  Manciple's  tale  to  be  told  in  the  morning  ;  yet  now  when  it  is 
ended  he  tells  us  plainly  that  it  is  four  in  the  afternoon  (Group  I.,  5). 

t  An  allusion  to  the  alliterative  verse  popular  among  the  common 
folk,  like  that  of  "  Piers  Plowman." 


170  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

To  knit  up  all  this  feast,  and  make  an  end  ; 

And  Jesu,  for  His  grace,  wit  me  send 

To  shewe  you  the  way,  in  this  voyage, 

Of  thilke  perfect,  glorious  pilgrimage 

That  hight  Jerusalem  celestial .  .  .' 

Upon  this  word  we  have  assented  soon, 

For  as  us  seemed,  it  was  for  to  doon  [right  to  do 

To  enden  in  some  virtuous  sentence. 

And  for  to  give  him  space  and  audience. 

The  Host  voices  the  common  consent,  reinforcing 
his  speech  for  once  with  a  prayer  instead  of  an  oath. 
The  Parson  then  launches  out  into  a  treatise  on  the 
Seven  Deadly  Sins  and  their  remedies,  translated  from 
the  French  of  a  13th-century  friar.  The  treatise  (like 
Chaucer's  other  prose  writings)  lacks  the  style  of  his 
verse;  but  it  contains  one  lively  and  amusing  chapter 
of  his  own  insertion,  satirizing  the  extravagance  of 
costume  in  his  day  (lines  407  ff.). 

Long  before  the  Parson  had  ended,  the  city  must 
have  been  in  full  view  below — white-walled,  red-roofed 
amid  its  orchards  and  green  meadows,  but  lacking  that 
perfect  bell-tower  which,  from  far  and  near,  is  now  the 
fairest  sight  of  all.  At  this  point  an  anonymous  and 
far  inferior  poet  has  continued  Chaucer's  narrative  in 
the  "Tale  of  Beryn."  The  prologue  to  that  tale  shows 
us  the  pilgrims  putting  up  at  the  Chequers  Inn,  "that 
many  a  man  doth  know,"  fragments  of  which  may  still 
be  seen  close  to  the  Cathedral  at  the  corner  of  Mercery 
Lane.*  Travelling  as  they  did  in  force — and  especially 
with  such  redoubtable  champions  among  their  party — 
they  would  no  doubt  have  been  able  to  choose  this 
desirable  hostel  without  too  great  molestation  ;  but  in 
favour  of  less  able-bodied  pilgrims  the  city  authorities 
were   obliged   to   pass   a  law  that  no   hosteler  should 

*  It  was  mostly  destroyed  by  fire  in  1865.  Most  writers  on  Canterbury, 
misled  by  the  ancient  spelling,  call  the  inn  "  Chequers  of  the  Hope." 
Hope,  as  Prof.  Skcat  has  long  ago  pointed  out,  is  simply  Hoop,  a  part  of 
the  inn  sign.  Cf.  Riley,  "Memorials  of  London,"  pp.  497,  524;  and 
"  Hist.  MSS.  Commission,"  Report  v.,  pt.  i.,  p.  448. 


^riu<i..w-  •  ^-i'"  '':^  '4i*>«^ 


CAN  TE  R  B  VRV, 


<^.s''yhjifr<tv«f. 


l-'ROM    W.    ^Mini's    liRAWINc;    (IF     i;8S.       (si.OAN?:    MS.    25Qr'.)       TlIK    ril.CKI.MS    KNIEK-HI)    I'.V    'I  H  E 

uKsr  c..\i'}i  (no.  6) 


"CANTERBURY  TALES"  171 

"disturb  no  manner  of  strange  man  coming  to  the  city 
for  to  take  his  inn ;  but  it  shall  be  lawful  to  take  his 
inn  at  his  own  lust  without  disturbance  of  any  hosteler."  * 
In  the  Cathedral  itself — 

The  Pardoner  and  the  Miller,  and  other  lewd  sots, 

Sought  themselves  in  the  church  right  as  lewd  goats, 

Peered  fast  and  pored  high  upon  the  glass, 

Counterfeiting  gentlemen,  the  armes  for  to  blase,  [blazon 

till  the  Host  bade  them  show  better  manners,  and  go 
offer  at  the  shrine.  "  Then  passed  they  forth  boister- 
ously, goggling  with  their  heads,"  kissed  the  relics 
dutifully,  saw  the  different  holy  places,  and  presently 
sat  down  to  dinner.  How  the  Miller  (being  accustomed 
to  such  sleight  of  hand)  stole  afterwards  a  bosom-full 
of  "Canterbury  brooches";  how  uproarious  was  the 
merriment  after  supper,  and  how  the  Pardoner  became 
the  hero  of  a  scandalous  adventure — this  and  much 
more  may  be  read  at  length  in  the  prologue  to  the  "Tale 
of  Beryn."  It  will  already  have  been  noted,  however, 
that  the  anonymous  poet  entirely  agrees  with  Chaucer 
in  laying  stress  on  what  may  be  called  the  bank-holiday 
side  of  the  pilgrimage.  That  side  does  indeed  come  out 
with  rather  more  than  its  due  prominence  when  we  thus 
skip  the  separate  tales  and  run  straight  through  the 
plot  of  the  pilgrims'  journey;  but,  when  all  allowances 
have  been  made,  Chaucer  enables  us  to  understand  why 
orthodox  preachers  spoke  on  this  subject  almost  as 
strongly  as  the  heresiarch  Wycliffe ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  how  great  a  gap  was  made  in  the  life  of  the 
common  folk  by  the  abolition  of  pilgrimages. 

The  very  fidelity  with  which  the  poet  paints  his 
own  time  shows  us  the  Reformation  in  embryo.  We 
have  in  fact  here,  within  the  six  hundred  pages  of  the 
"  Canterbury  Tales,"  one  of  the  most  vivid  and  signi- 
ficant of  all  scenes  in  the  great  Legend  of  the  Ages  ; 
and  his  pilgrims,  so  intent  upon  the  present,  so  exactly 

*  Mrs.  Green,  "  Town  Life,"  ii.,  33. 


172      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

mirrored  by  Chaucer  as  they  moved  and  spoke  in  their 
own  time,  tell  us  nevertheless  both  of  another  age 
that  was  almost  past  and  of  a  future  time  which  was 
not  yet  ripe  for  reality.  The  Knight  is  still  of  course 
the  most  respected  figure  in  such  a  company;  and  he 
brings  into  the  book  a  pale  afterglow  of  the  real 
crusades ;  but  the  Host  now  treads  close  upon  his 
heels,  big  with  the  importance  of  a  prosperous  citizen 
who  has  twice  sat  in  Parliament  side  by  side  with 
knights  of  the  shire.  The  good  Prioress  recalls  faintly 
the  heroic  age  of  monasticism ;  yet  St.  Benedict  and 
St.  Francis  would  have  recognized  their  truest  son  in 
the  poor  Parson,  whose  puritanism  brought  him  into 
such  vehement  suspicion  of  heresy,  and  upon  whom 
the  pilgrims  called  only  in  the  last  resort.*  The  Monk 
and  the  Friar,  the  Summoner  and  the  Pardoner,  do 
indeed  remind  us  how  large  a  share  the  Church  claimed 
in  every  department  of  daily  life;  but  they  make  us 
ask  at  the  same  time  "how  long  can  it  last?"  Extremes 
meet;  and  the  "lewd  sots"  who  went  "goggling  with 
their  heads,"  gaping  and  disputing  at  the  painted 
windows  on  their  way  to  the  shrine,  were  lineal 
ancestors  to  the  notorious  "Blue  Dick"  of  250  years 
later,  who  made  ai  merit  of  having  mounted  on  a  lofty 
ladder,  pike  in  hand,  to  "rattle  down  proud  Becket's 
glassie  bones." 

*  It  was  actually  one  of  the  counts  in  1405  against  the  priest  Richard 
Wyche,  sometime  Vicar  of  Deptford,  who  was  finally  burned  on  Tower 
Hill  in  1440,  that  he  had  maintained  "men  and  women  on  pilgrimage 
should  always  converse  with  each  other  concerning  Holy  Scripture"  :  a 
sentiment  which  Chaucer's  Parson  might  well  have  uttered.  Another  of 
Wyche's  condemned  expressions  was  practically  identical  with  that  of 
Berthold  v.  Regensburg,  quoted  above  on  p.  141  [Fuse.  /J::aHionim^  R.S. 
p.  502). 


1- liw  \ki)   III.    1  \<i  )M    iii>    I  ( iMi;   i\ 
\\1'>|  MI.N.N  I  l-,K    .\i;i;i-.N 


CHAPTER  XIV 
KING   AND   QUEEN 

"  Then  came  there  a  King  ;  knighthood  him  led  ; 
Might  of  the  Commons  made  him  to  reign." 

"Piers  Plowman,"  B.,  Prol.  112 

WE  have  traced  the  main  course  of  the  poet's  life, 
followed  him  at  work  and  at  play,  and  con- 
sidered his  immediate  environment.  Let  us  now  try 
to  roam  more  at  large  through  the  England  of  his  day, 
and  note  the  more  salient  features  of  that  society,  high 
and  low,  from  which  he  drew  his  characters. 

In  this  age,  Chaucer  could  scarcely  have  had  a 
better  introduction  to  Court  life  than  that  which  fell  to 
his  lot.  The  King  whom  he  served,  when  we  have 
made  all  possible  deductions,  was  still  the  most  imposing 
sovereign  of  the  time.  Adam  Murimuth,  a  contem- 
porary chronicler  not  often  given  to  rhetoric,  has  drawn 
Edward' III. 's  portrait  with  no  more  exaggeration  than 
we  must  take  for  granted  in  a  contemporary,  and  with 
such  brilliancy  that  his  more  picturesque  successor, 
Walsingham,  has  transferred  the  paragraph  almost 
bodily  into  his  own  pages.  "This  King  Edward," 
writes  Adam,  "was  of  infinite  goodness,  and  glorious 
among  all  the  great  ones  of  the  world,  being  entitled 
The  Glorious  par  excellence,  for  that  by  virtue  of  grace 
from  heaven  he  outshone  in  excellence  all  his  pre- 
decessors, renowned  and  noble  as  they  were.  He  was 
so  great-hearted  that  he  never  blenched  or  changed  the 
fashion  of  his  countenance  at  any  ill-hap  or  trouble 
soever  that  came  upon  him  ;  a  renowned  and  fortunate 
warrior,  who   triumphed   gloriously  in   battles   by  sea 


174  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

and  land ;  clement  and  benign,  familiar  and  gentle  even 
to  all  men,  both  strangers  and  his  own  subjects  or 
dependents ;  devoted  to  God,  for  he  held  God's  Church 
and  His  ministers  in  the  greatest  reverence.  In 
temporal  matters  he  was  not  too  unyielding,  prudent 
and  discreet  in  counsel,  affable  and  gentle  in  courtesy 
of  speech,  composed  and  measured  in  gesture  and 
manners,  pitiful  to  the  afflicted,  and  profuse  in  largesse. 
In  times  of  wealth  he  was  not  immoderate;  his  love 
of  building  was  great  and  discriminating;  he  bore  losses 
with  moderation ;  devoted  to  hawking,  he  spent  much 
pains  on  that  art.  His  body  was  comely,  and  his  face 
like  the  face  of  a  god,  wherefrom  so  marvellous  grace 
shone  forth  that  whosoever  openly  considered  his 
countenance,  or  dreamed  thereof  by  night,  conceived 
a  sure  and  certain  hope  of  pleasant  solace  and  good- 
fortune  that  day.  He  ruled  his  realm  strictly  even  to 
his  old  age;  he  was  liberal  in  giving  and  lavish  in 
spending ;  for  he  was  excellent  in  all  honour  of  manners, 
so  that  to  live  under  him  was  to  reign  ;  since  his  fame 
was  so  spread  abroad  among  barbarous  nations  that, 
extolling  his  honour,  they  averred  that  no  land  under 
the  sun  had  ever  produced  a  King  so  noble,  so  generous, 
or  so  fortunate ;  and  that,  after  his  death,  none  such 
would  perchance  ever  be  raised  up  for  future  times. 
Yet  he  controlled  not,  even  in  old  age,  the  dissolute 
lusts  of  the  flesh;  and,  as  is  believed,  this  intemperance 
shortened  his  life."  Hereupon  follows  a  painfully  in- 
volved sentence  in  which  the  chronicler  draws  a  moral 
from  Edward's  brilliant  youth,  the  full  midday  of  his 
manhood,  and  the  degradation  of  his  declining  years.* 

If  the  praise  of  Edward's  clemency  seems  overdrawn 
to  those  who  remember  the  story  of  the  citizens  of 
Calais,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  the  chronicler  com- 
pares him  here  with  other  sovereigns  of  the  time — 
with  his  rival    Philippe   de   Valois,  who  was   scarcely 

*  A.  Murimuth,  ed.  Hog.,  p.  225. 


KING   AND   QUEEN  175 

dissuaded  from  executing  Sir  Walter  de  Mauny  in  cold 
blood,  despite  his  safe  conduct  from  the  Dauphin  ;  with 
Gaston  de  Foix,  who  with  a  penknife  in  his  hand  struck 
at  his  only  son  and  killed  him  ;  with  Richard  II.,  who 
smote  the  Earl  of  Arundel  in  the  face  during  the 
Queen's  funeral,  and  "  polluted  Westminster  Abbey 
with  his  blood " ;  with  Charles  the  Bad  of  Navarre, 
and  Pedro  the  Cruel  of  Spain.  What  even  the  cleric 
Murimuth  saw,  and  what  Chaucer  and  his  friend 
Hoccleve  saw  still  more  intimately,  was  the  Haroun 
al-Raschid  who  went  about  "in  simple  array  alone"  to 
hear  what  his  people  said  of  him  ;  the  "  mighty  victor, 
mighty  lord"  of  Sluys,  Crecy  and  Calais;  the  King 
who  in  war  would  freely  hazard  his  own  person, 
"  raging  like  a  wild  boar,  and  crying  '  Ha  Saint 
Edward!  Ha  Saint  George!'"*  and  who  in  peace 
would  lead  the  revels  at  Windsor,  clad  in  white  and 
silver,  and  embroidered  with  his  motto — 

Hay,  hay,  the  white  swan  ! 
By  Goddes  soul  I  am  thy  man  ! 

If  Edward  and  his  sons  were  renowned  for  their  uniform 
success  in  battle,  it  was  not  because  they  had  feared  to 
look  defeat  in  the  face.  Every  one  knows  how  much 
was  risked  and  all  but  lost  at  Crecy  and  Poitiers ;  the 
great  sea-fight  of  '*  Les  Espagnols  sur  Mer"  is  less 
known,  Froissart  excels  himself  in  this  story.t  We 
see  Edward  sailing  out  gaily,  in  spite  of  the  superior 
numbers  of  the  Spaniards,  and  bidding  his  minstrels 
pipe  the  brand-new  air  which  Sir  John  Chandos  had 
brought  back  from  Germany,  while  Chandos  himself 
sang  the  words.  Then,  when  the  enemy  came  sailing 
down  upon  him  with  their  great  embattled  ships,  the 
King  bade  his  steersman  tilt  straight  at  the  first  Spanish 
vessel,  in  spite  of  the  disparity  of  weight.  The  English 
boat  cracked  under  the  shock;  her  seams  opened;  and, 

*  Walsingham,  an.  1349  ;  Hoccleve,  E.E.T.S.,  vol.  iii.,  p.  93. 
t  Ed.  Buchon,  i.,  286  ;  ed.  Luce,  iv.,  327. 


176  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

by  the  time  that  Edward  had  captured  the  next  ship, 
his  own  was  beginning  to  sink.  The  Black  Prince  had 
even  a  narrower  escape ;  it  became  evident  that  his 
ship  would  go  down  before  he  could  board  the  enemy ; 
only  the  timely  arrival  of  the  Earl  of  Derby  saved  him ; 
the  deck  sank  almost  under  his  feet  as  he  climbed  the 
sides  of  the  Spaniard ;  '*  and  all  the  enemy  were  put 
overboard  without  taking  any  to  mercy."  The  Queen 
prayed  all  day  at  some  abbey — probably  Battle — in 
anguish  of  heart  for  the  news  which  came  from  time  to 
time  through  watchers  on  the  far-off  Downs.  Although 
Edward  and  his  sons  took  horse  at  once  upon  their 
landing,  not  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  did  they 
find  her,  apparently  in  her  own  castle  at  Pevensey :  "so 
the  lords  and  ladies  passed  that  night  in  great  revel, 
speaking  of  war  and  of  love." 

Arms  and  love  were  equally  commemorated  in  a 
foundation  which  was  one  of  the  glories  of  Edward's 
reign — the  Round  Tower  of  Windsor.  Dying  chivalry, 
like  other  moribund  institutions,  broke  out  now  and 
then  into  fantastic  revivals  of  the  past.  Edward  re- 
solved to  hold  a  Round  Table  at  his  palace,  and  to 
build  a  great  tower  for  the  purpose.  Warrants  were 
sent  out  to  impress  the  unhappy  labourers  throughout 
six  counties ;  for  a  short  time  as  many  as  722  men  were 
employed  on  the  work,  and  the  whole  Round  Tower 
was  built  in  ten  months  of  the  year  1344.*  Froissart 
connects  this,  probably  too  closely,  with  the  Order  of 
the  Garter,  which  seems  not  to  have  been  actually 
founded  until  1349,  when  every  household  in  the 
country  was  saddened  by  the  Great  Pestilence.  We 
have  here  one  of  the  typical  contrasts  of  those  times; 
both  sides  of  the  shield  are  seen  in  those  memories  of 
love  and  war  which  cling  round  the  Round  Tower  of 
Windsor.  Lavish  profusion  side  by  side  with  dirt  and 
squalor;    the   minstrels  clad  in  rich  cloths  taken  from 

•   Longman,  "Edward  III.,"  i.,  225,  413. 


KING   AND  QUEEN 


177 


THE    PEACOCK    FEAST 


(From  the  sepulchral  brass  of  Robert  Braunche,  twice  Mayor  of  Lynn,  who  died 
in  1364.  Braunche  had  the  honour  of  entertaining^  Edward  III.,  here  dis- 
tinguished by  his  crown  on  the  extreme  left  of  the  guests.  Observe  the 
attitude  of  the  attendant  squire  on  the  extreme  right.) 


178  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

the  Spaniards ;  bright  eyes  and  careless  merriment  at 
the  Royal  board,  while  the  hawks  scream  down  from 
their  perches,  and  noble  hounds  fight  for  bones  among 
the  rushes ;  silken  trains,  stiff  with  gold,  trailing  over 
the  nameless  defilements  of  the  floor;  a  King  and  his 
sons,  more  stately  and  warlike  than  any  other  Royal 
family ;  but  their  crowns  are  in  pawn  with  foreign  mer- 
chants, and  they  themselves  have  been  obliged  to  leave 
four  earls  behind  as  hostages  to  their  Flemish  creditors.* 
Royalty  has  always  its  ineiuoito  iiiori,  no  doubt,  but 
not  always  under  the  same  forms. 

If  Chaucer  the  poet  was  fortunate  in  his  Royal  master, 
still  more  fortunate  was  Philippa  Chaucer  in  her  name- 
sake, "the  good  Queen."  The  wooing  of  Edward  and 
Philippa  of  Hainault  is  painted  lovingly  by  Froissart, 
who  was  the  lady's  compatriot  and  a  clerk  in  her  ser- 
vice. In  1326  Queen  Isabella  of  England,  who  had 
broken  more  or  less  definitely  with  her  husband,  was 
staying  with  her  eldest  boy  at  her  brother's  Court  in 
Paris.  But  the  King  of  France  had  no  wish  to  encour- 
age open  rebellion;  and  Isabella  avoided  extradition 
only  by  fleeing  to  her  cousin,  the  Count  of  Hainault,  at 
Valenciennes.  "  In  those  days  had  Count  William  four 
daughters,  Margaret,  Philippa,- Joan,  and  Isabel;  among 
whom  young  Edward  devoted  himself  most,  and  inclined 
with  eyes  of  love  to  Philippa  rather  than  to  the  rest ; 
and  the  maiden  knew  him  better  and  kept  closer  com- 
pany with  him  than  any  of  her  sisters.  So  have  I  since 
heard  from  the  mouth  of  the  good  Lady  herself,  who 
was  Queen  of  England,  and  in  whose  court  and  service 
I  dwelt."  It  was  agreed,  in  reward  for  the  count's  hos- 
pitality, that  Edward  should  marry  one  of  the  girls;  and 
when  Isabella  went  home  to  conquer  England  in  her 
son's  name,  the  main  body  of  her  army  consisted  of 
Hainaulters,  and  most  of  the  prepaid  dowry  of  the 
future   bride    was   consumed    by   the  expenses   of  the 

*  JLongman,  "Edward  III.,''  vol.  i,,  pp.  147,  157,  178, 


KING   AND  QUEEN  179 

expedition.  Then,  in  1327,  when  the  wretched  Edward  II. 
had  bitterly  expiated  his  follies  and  crimes  in  the  dun- 
geon of  Berkeley,  and  the  "she-wolf  of  France"  already 
ruled  England  in  her  son's  name,  she  went  through  the 
form  of  asking  whether  he  would  marry  one  of  the 
young  countesses.  "And  when  they  asked  him,  he 
began  to  laugh,  and  said,  '  Yes,  I  am  better  pleased  to 
marry  there  than  elsewhere;  and  rather  to  Philippa,  for 
she  and  I  accorded  excellently  well  together;  and  she 
wept,  I  know  well,  when  I  took  leave  of  her  at  my 
departure.'"  All  that  was  needed  now  was  a  papal  dis- 
pensation ;  for  the  parties  were  second  cousins.  This 
was,  of  course,  a  mere  matter  of  form — or,  rather,  of 
money.  Towards  the  end  of  the  year  Philippa  was 
married  by  proxy  at  Valenciennes;  and  on  December  23 
she  arrived  in  London,  where  there  were  "great  rejoic- 
ings and  noble  show  of  lords,  earls,  barons,  knights, 
highborn  ladies  and  noble  damsels,  with  rich  display  of 
dress  and  jewels,  with  jousts  too  and  tourneys  for  the 
ladies'  love,  with  dancing  and  carolling,  and  with  great 
and  rich  feasts  day  by  day ;  and  these  rejoicings  endured 
for  the  space  of  3  weeks."  Edward  was  at  York,  resting 
after  his  first  Scottish  campaign;  so  "the  young  queen 
and  her  meinie  journeyed  northwards  until  they  came  to 
York,  where  she  was  received  with  great  solemnity. 
And  all  the  lords  of  England  who  were  in  the  city  came 
forth  in  fair  array  to  meet  her,  and  with  them  the  young 
king,  mounted  on  an  excellently-paced  hackney,  magni- 
ficently clad  and  arrayed ;  and  he  took  her  by  the  hand, 
and  then  embraced  and  kissed  her;  and  so  riding  side 
by  side,  with  great  plenty  of  minstrels  and  honours, 
they  entered  the  city  and  came  to  the  Queen's  lodgings. 
...  So  there  the  young  King  Edward  wedded  Philippa 
of  Hainault  in  the  cathedral  church  of  St.  William  [sic]. 
.  .  .  And  the  king  was  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  the 
young  queen  was  on  the  point  of  fourteen  years.  .  .  .  Thus 
came  the  said  queen  Philippa  to  England  at  so  happy  a 
time  that  the  whole  kingdom  might  well  rejoice  thereat, 


J  80  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

and  did  indeed  rejoice ;  for  since  the  days  of  queen 
Guinevere,  who  was  wife  to  King  Arthur  and  queen  of 
England  (which  men  called  Great  Britain  in  those  days), 
so  good  a  queen  never  came  to  that  land,  nor  any  who 
had  so  much  honour,  or  such  fair  offspring  ;  for  in  her 
time,  by  King  Edward  her  spouse,  she  had  seven  sons 
and  five  daughters.  And,  so  long  as  she  lived,  the 
realm  of  England  enjoyed  grace,  prosperity,  honour, 
and  all  good  fortune ;  nor  was  there  ever  enduring 
famine  or  dearth  in  the  land  while  she  reigned  there. 
.  .  .  Tall  and  straight  she  was ;  wise,  gladsome,  humble, 
devout,  free-handed,  and  courteous;  and  in  her  time 
she  was  richly  adorned  with  all  noble  virtues,  and  well 
beloved  of  God  and  men."* 

So  far  Froissart,  recording  events  which  happened 
some  ten  years  before  his  birth,  from  the  mouths  of  the 
actors  themselves;  writing  lovingly,  in  his  extreme  old 
age,  of  his  first  and  noblest  patroness,  and  proudly  as  a 
Dane  might  write  thirty  years  hence  of  the  princess 
who  had  come  from  his  own  home  to  win  all  hearts 
in  England.!  From  other  chroniclers,  and  from  dry 
official  documents,  we  ma}'  throw  interesting  sidelights 
on  these  more  living  memorials.  One  such  document, 
however,  is  as  living  as  a  page  from  Froissart  himself, 
in  spite  of — or  shall  we  say,  because  of  ?— its  essentially 
business  character  and  the  legal  caution  of  phrase  in 
which  the  writer  has  wrapped  up  his  direct  personal 
impressions.  The  official  register  of  the  ill-fated  Bishop 
Stapledon,  of  Exeter,  so  soon  to  expiate  at  the  hands 
of  a    London    mob    his    loyal    ministerial    service    to 

*  Ed.  Buchon,  i.,  12,  34  ;  ed.  Luce,  i.,  284-287. 

t  Cf.  Darmestcter,  "  Froissart,"  p.  16,  and  Froissart,  ed.  Buchon, 
p.  512.  "The  good  queen  I'hilippa  was  in  my  youth  my  queen  and 
sovereign.  I  was  five  years  at  the  court  of  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Enghand.  In  my  youth  I  was  her  clerk,  serving  her  with  fair  ditties  and 
treatises  of  love  ;  and,  for  tiie  love  of  the  noble  and  worthy  lady  my 
mistress,  all  other  great  lords — king,  dukes,  earls,  barons  and  knights, 
of  whatsoever  country  they  might  be — loved  me  and  saw  me  gladly  and 
gave  me  much  profit." 


I'HIl.ll'I'A    o|      H\l\\l    1,1.    1K<1M    ll|.,K     loMl;    1\ 
W  l.>\  \ll.\>  I  l.k     \l;l;l-.N' 

(llll-      IIKSI     ,,^     T«i-     l;..VAI       M.MIS     \MII(II     1^    AN     AlTTAI       r<  '  l:M:  A I  1  ) 


KING  AND  QUEEN  181 

Edward  II.,  is  in  the  main  like  otlier  episcopal  registers — 
a  record  of  ordinations,  institutions,  dispensations,  law- 
suits, and  more  or  less  unsuccessful  attempts  to  reduce 
his  clergy  to  canonical  discipline.*  But  it  contains, 
under  the  date  of  1319  (p.  169),  an  entry  which  has,  so 
far  as  I  know,  been  strangely  overlooked  hitherto  by 
historians.  The  Latin  title  runs,  "  Inspection  and 
Description  of  the  Daughter  of  the  Count  of  Hainault, 
Philippa  by  name."  To  this  a  later  hand,  probably  that 
of  the  succeeding  bishop,  has  added  :  "She  was  Queen 
of  England,  Wife  to  Edward  III."  The  document  itself, 
which  is  in  Norman-P>ench,  runs  as  follows :  "  The 
lady  whom  we  saw  has  not  uncomely  hair,  betwixt 
blue-black  and  brown.  Her  head  is  clean-shaped ;  her 
forehead  high  and  broad,  and  standing  somewhat  for- 
ward. Her  face  narrows  between  the  eyes,  and  the 
lower  part  of  her  face  still  more  narrow  and  slender 
than  the  forehead.  Her  eyes  are  blackish-brown  and 
deep.  Her  nose  is  fairly  smooth  and  even,  save  that  it 
is  somewhat  broad  at  the  tip  and  also  flattened,  yet  it  is 
no  snub-nose.  Her  nostrils  are  also  broad,  her  mouth 
fairly  wide.  Her  lips  somewhat  full,  and  especially  the 
lower  lip.  Her  teeth  which  have  fallen  and  grown 
again  are  white  enough,  but  the  rest  are  not  so  white. 
The  lower  teeth  project  a  little  beyond  the  upper ;  yet 
this  is  but  little  seen.  Her  ears  and  chin  are  comely 
enough.  Her  neck,  shoulders,  and  all  her  body  and 
lower  limbs  are  reasonably  well  shapen  ;  all  her  limbs 
are  well  set  and  unmaimed ;  and  nought  is  amiss  so  far 
as  a  man  may  see.  Moreover,  she  is  brown  of  skin  all 
over,  and  much  like  her  father;  and  in  all  things  she  is 
pleasant  enough,  as  it  seems  to  us.  And  the  damsel 
will  be  of  the  age  of  nine  years  on  St.  John's  day  next 

*  I  cannot  refrain  here  from  calling  attention  to  the  extraordinary 
historical  value  of  the  eight  volumes  of  Exeter  registers  published  by 
Prebendary  Hingeston-Randolph,  who  in  this  department  has  done  more 
for  historical  students,  during  the  last  twenty-five  years,  than  all  the 
learned  societies  of  the  kingdom  put  together. 


182      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

to  come,  as  her  mother  saith.  She  is  neither  too  tall 
nor  too  short  for  such  an  age ;  she  is  of  fair  carriage, 
and  well  taught  in  all  that  becometh  her  rank,  and 
highly  esteemed  and  well  beloved  of  her  father  and 
mother  and  of  all  her  meinie,  in  so  far  as  we  could 
inquire  and  learn  the  truth."  Cannot  we  here  see, 
through  the  bishop's  dry  and  measured  phrases,  a 
figure  scarcely  less  living  and  attractive  than  Froissart 
shows  us? 

But  the  register  corrects  the  historian  just  where  we 
should  expect  to  find  him  at  fault.  "  The  noble  and 
worthy  lady  my  mistress "  would  scarcely  have  told 
Froissart  how  much  State  policy  there  had  been  in  the 
marriage,  true  love-match  as  it  had  been  in  spite  of  all. 
The  old  bishop,  before  whose  face  she  had  trembled, 
and  laughed  again  behind  his  back  with  her  sisters ;  his 
invidious  comparisons  between  her  first  and  second 
teeth;  his  business-like  collection  of  backstairs  gossip, 
which  some  more  confidential  maid-of-honour  must 
surely  have  whispered  to  her  mistress — of  all  this  the 
noble  lady  naturally  breathed  no  syllable  to  her  devoted 
clerk.  But,  apart  from  the  official  record  in  the  secret 
archives  of  Exeter  diocese,  a  vague  memory  of  it  all  was 
kept  alive  in  men's  minds  by  that  most  efficacious  of 
historical  preservatives — a  broad  jest.  The  rhyming 
chronicler  Hardyng,  whose  life  overlapped  Froissart's 
and  Chaucer's  by  several  years,  records  a  good  deal  of 
Court  gossip,  especially  about  Edward  III.'s  family. 
He  writes* — 

"  lie  sent  forth  then  to  Hainault  for  a  wife 

A  bishop  and  other  lordes  temporal, 
Where,  in  chamber  privy  and  secret 

At  discovered,  dishevelled  also  in  all. 

As  seeming  was  to  estate  virginal. 
Among  themselves  our  lords,  for  his  prudence 
Of  the  bishop  asked  counsel  and  sentence. 

*  Ed.  1812,  p.  317.  The  text  of  this  book  is  frequently  corrupt  ;  but 
the  evident  sense  of  these  ungrammatical  lines  3-5  is  that  the  envoys 
were  allowed  to  watch  the  unsuspecting  damsels  from  some  hidden  coign 


KING  AND  QUEEN  183 

"Which  daughter  of  the  five  should  be  the  queen. 

Who  counselled  thus,  with  sad  avisement 
*  We  will  have  her  with  good  hippes,  I  mean, 

For  she  will  bear  good  sons,  to  mine  intent.' 

To  which  they  all  accorded  by  assent, 
And  chose  Philippa  that  was  full  feminine. 
As  the  bishop  most  wise  did  determine. 

"  But  then  among  themselves  they  laughed  fast  ay  ; 
The  lords  then  said  [that]  the  bishop  couth 

P'ull  mickle  skill  of  a  woman  alway,  [was  a  good  judge 

That  so  could  choose  a  lady  that  was  uncouth  ;  [unknown 

And,  for  the  merry  words  that  came  of  his  mouth, 

They  trowed  he  had  right  great  experience 

Of  woman's  rule  and  their  convenience." 

Later  on  again,  after  enumerating  the  titles  and 
virtues  of  the  sons  that  were  born  of  this  union, 
Hardyng  continues — 

"  So  high  and  large  they  were  of  all  stature, 
The  least  of  them  was  of  [his]  person  able 

To  have  foughten  with  any  creature 
Single  battaile  in  actes  merciable  ; 
The  bishop's  wit  me  thinketh  commendable, 

So  well  could  choose  the  princess  that  them  bore, 

For  by  practice  he  knew  it,  or  by  lore." 

We  need  find  no  difficulty  in  reconciling  Froissart 
with  these  other  documents ;  Edward's  was  a  love- 
match,  but,  like  all  Royal  love-matches,  subject  to  pos- 
sible considerations  of  State.  The  first  negotiations  for 
a  papal  dispensation  carefully  avoid  exact  specification  ; 
the  request  is  simply  for  leave  to  marry  "one  of  the 
daughters"  of  Hainault ;  only  two  months  before  the 
actual  marriage  does  the  final  document  bear  Philippa's 
name. 

The  Queen's  public  life — the  scene  before  Calais, 
and  her  (somewhat  doubtful)  presence  at  the  battle  of 
Nevile's  Cross — belongs  rather  to  the  general  history  of 
England  ;  of  her  private  life,  as  of  Chaucer's,  a  great 
deal  only  flashes  out  here  and  there,  meteor-wise,  from 

of  vantage.     It  will  be  noted  that  Hardyng  speaks  of  five  daughters  ; 
there  had  been  five,  but  the  eldest  was  now  dead. 


184  CHAUCER  AND  HIS   ENGLAND 

account-books  and  similar  business  documents.  We 
find,  for  instance,  what  gifts  were  given  to  the 
messengers  who  announced  the  births  of  her  successive 
children  to  the  King ;  and  Beltz,  in  his  "  Memorials  of 
the  Garter,"  has  unearthed  the  name  of  the  lady  who 
nursed  the  Black  Prince.*  We  find  Edward  building 
for  his  young  consort  the  castle  since  called  Queen- 
borough,  the  master-mason  on  this  occasion  being  John 
Gibbon,  ancestor  to  the  great  historian.  At  another 
moment  we  see  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  as  Chamberlain, 
claiming  for  his  perquisites  after  the  coronation 
Philippa's  bed,  shoes,  and  three  silver  basins;  but 
Edward  redeemed  the  bed  for  ^looo.f  This  redemp- 
tion is  explained  by  divers  entries  in  the  Royal  accounts; 
in  1335-6  the  King  owed  John  of  Cologne  ^3000  for  a 
bed  made  "against  the  confinement  of  the  Lady  Philippa 
...  of  green  velvet,  embroidered  in  gold,  with  red 
sirens,  bearing  a  shield  with  the  arms  of  England  and 
Hainault."  The  infant  on  this  occasion  was  the  short- 
lived William  of  Hatfield,  whose  child-tomb  may  be 
seen  in  York  Cathedral,  Her  carpets  for  a  later  con- 
finement cost  ;!^900,  but  her  bed  only  ^^1250.  And  so  on 
to  the  latest  entries  of  all— the  carving  of  her  tomb 
at  W^estminster ;  the  wrought-iron  hearse  which  the 
canons  of  St.  Paul's  obligingly  took  from  the  tomb  of 
Bishop  Northbrooke  and  sold  for  that  of  the  Queen  at 
the  price  of  ;^6oo;J  lastly,  the  rich  "mortuary"  accruing 

•  Ed.  1841,  p.  206.  She  was  Katherinc,  daughter  to  Sir  Adam 
Banastre.  Miss  Strickland  asserts  that  the  Queen,  contrary  to  the 
custom  of  medieval  ladies  in  high  life,  nursed  the  infant  herself.  She 
gives  no  reference,  and  her  authority  is  possibly  Joshua  Barnes's  "  Life 
of  Edward  III."  (1688),  p.  44,  where,  however,  references  are  again 
withheld.  The  Black  Prince  was  born  June  15,  1330,  when  the  King 
would  have  been  19  and  the  Queen  just  on  16  years  old  according  to 
Froissart ;  but  Edward  was  in  fact  only  17,  and  Bishop  Stapledon's 
reckonmg  would  make  the  Queen  about  the  same  age. 

t  Throughout  this  chapter  I  multiply  the  ancient  money  by  lifleen,  to 
bring  it  to  modern  value. 

X  Such  acts  of  vandalism  were  far  more  common  in  the  Middle  Ages 
than  is  generally  imagined  ;  a  good  many  instances  are  noted  in  the 
index  of  my  "  From  St.  Francis  to  Dante.'' 


KING   AND   QUEEN  185 

to  the  Chapter  of  York  Minster,  who  got  for  their  per- 
quisite the  bed  on  which  Philippa  had  breathed  her 
last,  and  had  its  rich  hangings  cut  up  into  "thirteen 
copes,  six  tunics  and  one  chasuble."  * 

But  here  let  us  turn  back  to  Froissart,  who,  under 
the  year  1369,  turns  suddenly  aside  from  his  chronicle 
of  battles  and  sieges,  to  pay  a  heartfelt  tribute  to  his 
first  benefactress.  "  Now  let  us  speak  of  the  death  of 
the  gentlest  queen,  the  most  liberal  and  courteous  of  all 
who  reigned  in  her  time,  my  Lady  Philippa  of  Hainault, 
queen  of  England  and  Ireland :  God  pardon  her  and  all 
others !  In  these  days  .  .  .  there  came  to  pass  in 
England  a  thing  common  enough,  but  exceedingly 
pitiful  this  time  for  the  king  and  her  children  and  the 
whole  land ;  for  the  good  lady  the  Queen  of  England, 
who  had  done  so  much  good  in  her  lifetime  and  suc- 
coured so  many  knights,  ladies,  and  damsels,  and  given 
and  distributed  so  freely  among  all  people,  and  who 
had  ever  loved  so  naturally  those  of  her  own  native 
land  of  Hainault,  lay  grievously  sick  in  the  castle  of 
Windsor;  and  her  sickness  lay  so  hard  upon  her  that 
it  waxed  more  and  more  grievous,  and  her  last  end  drew 
near.  When  therefore  this  good  lady  and  queen  knew 
that  she  must  die,  she  sent  for  the  king  her  husband ; 
and,  when  he  was  come  into  her  presence,  she  drew  her 
right  hand  from  under  the  coverlet  and  put  it  into  the 
right  hand  of  the  king,  who  was  sore  grieved  in  his 
heart ;  and  thus  spake  the  good  lady  :  '  My  Lord,  heaven 
be  thanked  that  we  have  spent  our  days  in  peace  and 
joy  and  prosperity ;  wherefore  I  pray  that  you  will 
grant  me  three  boons  at  this  my  departure.'  The  King, 
weeping  and  sobbing,  answered  and  said,  '  Ask,  Lady, 
for  they  are  granted.'  '  My  Lord,  I  pray  for  all  sorts  of 
good  folk  with  whom  in  time  past  I  have  dealt  for  their 

*  Devon,  "Issues  of  the  Exchequer,"  pp.  144,  153,  155,  199;  "York 
Fabric  Rolls,"  p.  125  ;  of.  154.  It  was  one  ot  the  privileges  of  the 
Archbishops  of  York  to  crown  the  (2ueen.  For  the  mortuary  system,  see 
my  "  Priests  and  People  in  Medieval  England."    (Simpkins.     is.) 


186  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

merchandize,  both  on  this  and  on  that  side  of  the  sea, 
that  ye  will  easily  trust  their  word  for  that  wherein  I 
am  bound  to  them,  and  pay  full  quittance  for  me.  Next, 
that  ye  will  keep  and  accomplish  all  ordinances  which  I 
have  made,  and  all  legacies  which  I  have  bequeathed, 
both  to  churches  on  either  side  of  the  sea  where  I  have 
paid  my  devotions,  and  to  the  squires  and  damsels  who 
have  served  me.  Thirdly,  my  Lord,  I  pray  that  ye  will 
choose  no  other  sepulture  than  to  lie  by  my  side  in  the 
Abbey  of  Westminster,  when  God's  will  shall  be  done 
on  you.'  The  King  answered  weeping,  '  Lady,  I  grant 
it  you.'  Then  made  the  Queen  the  sign  of  the  true 
cross  on  him,  and  commended  the  King  to  God,  and 
likewise  the  lord  Thomas  her  youngest  son,. who  was 
by  her  side;  and  then  within  a  brief  space  she  yielded 
up  her  ghost,  which  (as  I  firmly  believe)  the  holy  angels 
of  paradise  seized  and  carried  with  great  joy  to  the 
glory  of  heaven ;  for  never  in  her  life  did  she  nor 
thought  she  any  thing  whereby  she  might  lose  it." 

As  the  good  Queen's  beloved  bed-hangings  were 
dispersed  in  fragments  among  the  Canons  of  York,  so 
her  dying  benedictions  would  seem  to  have  been 
scattered  no  less  widely  to  the  winds.  One  of  the 
servants  so  tenderly  commended  to  the  King's  care  was 
Chaucer's  wife ;  but  another  was  Alice  Ferrers,  whom 
Edward  had  already  noted  with  favour,  and  who  now 
took  more  or  less  openly  the  dead  Queen's  place.  Men 
aged  rapidly  in  those  days ;  and,  as  Edward  trod  the 
descending  slope  of  life,  his  manly  will  weakened  and 
left  little  but  the  animal  behind.  Philippa  was  scarcely 
cold  in  her  grave  when  Alice  Ferrers,  decked  in  her 
mistress's  jewels,  was  masquerading  at  royal  tour- 
naments as  the  Lady  of  the  Sun.  Presently  she  was 
sitting  openly  at  the  judge's  side  in  the  law  courts;  the 
King's  shame  was  the  common  talk  of  his  subjects ;  and 
even  the  formal  protests  of  Parliament  failed  to  separate 
her  from  the  doting  old  King,  from  whom  on  his  death- 
bed she  kept  the  clergy  away  until  his  speech  was  gone. 


KING  AND   QUEEN  187 

Then,  having  stolen  the  very  rings  from  his  fingers,  she 
left  him  to  a  priest  w^ho  could  only  infer  repentance 
from  his  groans  and  tears.  Thomas  of  Woodstock,  the 
Queen's  Benjamin,  fared  not  much  better.  He  became 
the  selfish  and  overbearing  leader  of  the  opposition  to 
Richard  II.,  and  was  at  last  secretly  murdered  by  order 
of  the  royal  nephew  whom  he  had  bullied  more  or  less 
successfully  for  twenty  years. 


CHAPTER  XV 

KNIGHTS   AND   SQUIRES 

" '  But  teach  me,'  quoth  the  Knight ;  *  and,  by  Christ,  I  will  assay  ! ' 
'  By  St.  Paul,'  quoth  Perkin,  '  ye  proffer  you  so  fair 
That  I  shall  work  and  sweat,  and  sow  for  us  both. 
And  other  labours  do  for  thy  love,  all  my  lifetime. 
In  covenant  that  thou  keep  Holy  Church  and  myself 
From  wasters  and  from  wicked  men,  that  this  world  destroy  ; 
And  go  hunt  hardily  to  hares  and  foxes, 
To  boars  and  to  badgers  that  break  down  my  hedges  ; 
And  go  train  thy  falcons  wild-fowl  to  kill. 
For  such  come  to  my  croft  and  crop  my  wheat.' " 

"  Piers  Plowman,"  B.,  vi.,  24 

THE  theory  of  chivalry,  which  itself  owes  much  to 
pre-Christian  morality,  lies  at  the  roots  of  the 
modern  conception  of  gentility.  The  essence  of  perfect 
knighthood  was  fearless  strength,  softened  by  charity 
and  consecrated  by  faith.  A  certain  small  and  select 
class  had  (it  was  held)  a  hereditary  riglit  to  all  the 
best  things  of  this  world,  and  the  concomitant  duty  of 
using  with  moderation  for  themselves  and  giving  freely 
to  others.  Essentially  exclusive  and  jealous  of  its  privi- 
leges, the  chivalric  ideal  w^as  yet  the  highest  possible 
in  a  society  whose  very  foundations  rested  on  caste 
distinctions,  and  where  bondmen  were  more  numerous 
than  freemen.  The  world  will  always  be  the  richer 
for  it ;  but  we  must  not  forget  that,  like  the  finest 
llower  of  Greek  and  Roman  culture,  it  postulated  a 
servile  class;  the  many  must  needs  toil  and  groan 
and  bleed  in  order  that  the  few  might  have  grace 
and  freedom  to  grow  to  their  individual  perfection.  In 
its  finest  products  it  may  extort  unwilling  admiration 
even  from  the  most  convinced  democrat — 


KNIGHTS   AND   SQUIRES  189 

"  Often  I  find  myself  saying,  old  faith  and  doctrine  abjuring,  .  .  . 
Were  it  not  well  that  the  stem  should  be  naked  of  leaf  and  of  tendril, 
Poverty-stricken,  the  barest,  the  dismallest  stick  of  the  garden  ; 
Flowerless,  leafless,  unlovely,  for  ninety-and-nine  long  summers, 
So  in  the  hundredth,  at  last,  were  bloom  for  one  day  at  the  summit, 
So  but  that  fleeting  flower  were  lovely  as  Lady  Maria  ? "  * 

When,  however,  we  look  closer  into  the  system,  and 
turn  from  theory  to  practice,  then  we  find  again  those 
glaring  inconsistencies  which  meet  us  nearly  every- 
where in  medieval  society.  A  close  study  even  of 
such  a  panegyrist  as  Froissart  compels  us  to  look  to 
some  other  age  than  his  for  the  spirit  of  perfect 
chivalry ;  and  many  writers  would  place  the  palmy 
days  of  knighthood  in  the  age  of  St.  Louis.  Here 
again,  however,  we  find  the  same  difficulty ;  for  in 
Joinville  himself  there  are  many  jarring  notes,  and 
other  records  of  the  period  are  still  less  flattering  to 
knightly  society.  The  most  learned  of  modern  apolo- 
gists for  the  Middle  Ages,  Leon  Gautier,  is  driven  to 
put  back  the  Golden  Age  one  century  further,  thus 
implying  that  Francis  and  Dominic,  Aquinas  and  Dante, 
the  glories  of  Westminster  and  Amiens,  the  saintly 
King  who  dealt  justice  under  the  oak  of  Vincennes,  and 
twice  led  his  armies  oversea  against  the  heathen,  all 
belonged  to  an  age  of  decadence  in  chivalry.  Yet,  even 
at  this  sacrifice,  the  Golden  Age  escapes  us.  When  we 
go  back  to  the  middle  of  the  12th  century  we  find 
St.  Bernard's  contemporaries  branding  the  chivalry  of 
their  times  as  shamelessly  untrue  to  its  traditional 
code.  "The  Order  of  Knighthood"  (writes  Peter  of 
Blois  in  his  94th  Epistle)  "is  nowadays  mere  disorder. 
.  .  .  Knights  of  old  bound  themselves  by  an  oath  to 
stand  by  the  state,  not  to  flee  from  battle,  and  to 
prefer  the  public  welfare  to  their  own  lives.  Nay 
even  in  these  present  days  candidates  for  knighthood 
take  their  swords  from  the  altar  as  a  confession  that 
they   are  sons  of  the   Church,   and  that   the   blade   is 

*  Clough,  "  Bothie  of  Tober-na-Vuolich." 


190      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

given  to  them  for  the  honour  of  the  priesthood,  the 
defence  of  the  poor,  the  chastisement  of  evil-doers, 
and  the  deliverance  of  their  country.  But  all  goes  by 
contraries ;  for  nowadays,  from  the  moment  when  they 
are  honoured  with  the  knightly  belt,  they  rise  up 
against  the  Lord's  anointed  and  rage  against  the  patri- 
mony of  the  Crucified.  They  rob  and  despoil  Christ's 
poor,  afflicting  the  wretched  miserably  and  without 
mercy,  that  from  other  men's  pain  they  may  gratify 
their  unlawful  appetites  and  their  wanton  pleasures, 
.  .  .  They  who  should  have  used  their  strength  against 
Christ's  enemies  fight  now  in  their  cups  and  drunken- 
ness, waste  their  time  in  sloth,  moulder  in  debauchery, 
and  dishonour  the  name  and  office  of  Knighthood  by 
their  degenerate  lives."  This  was  about  1 170.  A  couple 
of  generations  earlier  we  get  an  equally  unfavourable 
impression  from  the  learned  and  virtuous  abbot,  Guibert 
of  Nogent.  Further  back,  again,  the  evidence  is  still 
more  damning;  and  nobody  would  seriously  seek  the 
golden  age  of  chivalry  in  the  nth  century.  It  is  indeed 
a  mirage;  and  Peter  of  Blois  in  1170,  Cardinal  Jacques 
de  Vitry  in  1220,  who  so  disadvantageous!}^  contrasted 
the  knighthood  of  their  own  time  with  that  of  the  past, 
were  simply  victims  of  a  common  delusion.  They 
despaired  too  lightly  of  the  actual  world,  and  sought 
refuge  too  credulously  in  an  imaginary  past.  Even  if, 
in  medieval  fashion,  we  trace  this  institution  back  to 
Romulus,  to  David,  to  Joshua,  or  to  Adam  himself,  we 
shall,  after  all,  find  it  nowhere  more  flourishing  than  in 
the  first  half  of  the  13th  century,  imperfectly  as  its  code 
was  kept  even  then. 

By  the  end  of  that  century,  however,  two  great 
causes  were  at  work  which  made  for  the  decay  of 
chivalry.  Before  Dante  had  begun  to  write,  the  real 
Crusades  were  over — or,  indeed,  even  before  Dante 
was  born — for  the  two  expeditions  led  by  St.  Louis 
were  small  compared  with  others  in  the  past.  In  1229 
the  Emperor  Frederick  II.  had  recovered  from  the  infidel 


KNIGHTS  AND  SQUIRES  191 

by  treaty  those  holy  places  which  Coeur-de-Lion  had 
in  vain  attempted  to  storm  ;  and  this  had  dealt  a  severe 
blow  to  the  old  traditions.  Again,  during  the  years 
that  followed,  the  Pope  did  not  hesitate  to  attack  his 
enemy  the  Emperor,  even  in  the  Holy  Land ;  so  that, 
while  Christian  fought  against  Christian  over  Christ's 
grave,  the  Turk  stepped  in  and  reconquered  Jerusalem 
(1244).  Lastly,  his  successors,  while  they  regularly 
raised  enormous  taxes  and  contributions  for  the  re- 
conquest  of  Palestine,  systematically  spent  them  on 
their  own  private  ambitions  or  personal  pleasures. 
Before  the  13th  century  was  out  the  last  Christian 
fortress  had  been  taken,  and  there  was  nothing  now 
to  show  for  two  centuries  of  bloodshed.  Under  these 
repeated  shocks  men  began  to  lose  faith  in  the  crusading 
principle.  A  couple  of  generations  before  Chaucer's 
birth,  Etienne  de  Bourbon  complained  that  the  upper 
classes  "not  only  did  not  take  the  cross,  but  scoffed 
at  the  lower  orders  when  they  did  so"  (p.  174).  In 
France,  after  the  disastrous  failure  of  St.  Louis's  first 
expedition,  the  rabble  said  that  Mahomet  was  now 
stronger  than  Christ*  Edward  III.  and  his  rival, 
Philippe  de  Valois,  did  for  a  moment  propose  to  go 
and  free  the  Holy  Land  in  concert,  but  hardl}''  seriously. 
Chaucer's  Knight  had  indeed  fought  in  Asia  Minor,  but 
mainly  against  European  pagans  in  Spain  and  on  the 
shores  of  the  Baltic ;  and,  irreproachable  as  his  motives 
were  in  this  particular  instance,  Cower  shows  scant 
sympathy  for  those  which  commonly  prompted  crusades 
of  this  kind.f 

A  still  more  fatal  cause  of  the  decay  of  chivalry, 
perhaps,  lay  in  the  growing  prosperity  of  the  merchant 
class.  Even  distinguished  historians  have  written  mis- 
leadingly  concerning  the  ideal  of  material  prosperity  and 
middle-class  comfort,  as  though  it  had  been  born  only 
with  the  Reformation.     It  seems  in  fact  an  inseparable 

*  "  Mod,  Germ.  Scriptt.,"  xxxii.,  444.  +  •'  Mirour,"  23893  ff. 


192  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

bye-product  of  civilization  :  whether  healthy  or  un- 
healthy need  not  be  discussed  here.  As  the  Dark 
Ages  brightened  into  the  Middle  Ages,  as  mere  club- 
law  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  so  the  longing  for  material 
comforts  grew  stronger  and  stronger.  The  great  mon- 
asteries were  among  the  leaders  in  this  as  in  so  many 
other  respects.  In  12th-century  England,  the  nearest 
approach  to  the  comfort  of  a  modern  household  would 
probably  have  been  found  either  in  rich  Jews'  houses  or 
in  the  more  favoured  parts  of  abbeys  like  Bury  and  St. 
Albans.  Already  in  the  13th  century  the  merchant 
class  begins  to  come  definitely  to  the  fore.  As  the  early 
14th-century  Renart  Ic  Conttrfait  complains — 

"  Bourgeois  du  roi  est  pair  et  comte  ; 
De  tous  dtats  portent  I'honneur. 
Riches  bourgeois  sent  bien  seigneurs  !  "  ♦ 

Italy  and  the  south  of  France  were  particularly  advanced 
in  this  respect ;  and  Dante's  paternal  house  was  probably 
richer  in  material  comforts  than  any  castle  or  palace  in 
England,  as  his  surroundings  were  in  many  other  wa3's 
more  civilized.  Even  the  feudal  aristocracy,  as  will 
presently  be  seen,  learned  much  in  these  ways  from  the 
citizen-class  :  and,  meanwhile,  a  slow  but  sure  inter- 
mingling process  began  between  the  two  classes  them- 
selves. First  only  by  way  of  abuse,  but  presently  by 
open  procedure  of  law,  the  rich  plebeian  began  to  buy 
for  himself  the  sacred  rank  of  Knighthood.  Long  before 
the  end  of  the  1 3th  century,  there  were  districts  of  France 
in  which  rich  citizens  claimed  knighthood  as  their  in- 
alienable right.  In  Plngland,  the  order  was  cheapened  by 
Edward  I.'s  statute  of  Distraint  oj  Knighthood  {\2/^),  in 
which  some  have  seen  a  deliberate  purpose  to  undermine 
the  feudal  nobility.  By  this  law,  all  freeholders  possess- 
ing an  estate  of  ;^20  a  year  were  not  only  permitted,  but 
compelled  to  become  knights;  and  the  superficiality  of 
the  strict  chivalric  ideal  is  shown  clearly  by  the  facts 

•  Ldnient,  "  Satire  en  France"  (1859},  p.  202. 


KNIGHTS  AND  SQUIRES  193 

that  such  a  law  could  ever  be  passed,  and  that  men  tried 
so  persistently  to  evade  it.  If  knighthood  had  been  in 
reality,  even  at  the  end  of  the  12th  century,  anything 
like  what  its  formal  codes  represent,  then  no  such 
attempt  as  this  could  have  been  made  in  1235  by  a  King 
humbly  devoted  to  the  Church — for,  as  early  as  that 
year,  Henry  III.  had  anticipated  his  son's  enactments. 

Where  Royal  statutes  and  popular  tendencies  work 
together  against  an  ancient  institution,  it  soon  begins  to 
crumble  away ;  and  the  knighthood  which  Chaucer  knew 
was  far  removed  from  that  of  a  few  generations  before. 
We  read  in  "Piers  Plowman"  that,  while  "poor  gentle 
blood  "  is  refused,  "soapsellers  and  their  sons  for  silver 
have  been  knights."  An  Italian  contemporary,  Sac- 
chetti,  complains  that  he  has  seen  knighthood  conferred 
on  "  mechanics,  artisans,  even  bakers  ;  nay,  worse  still, 
on  woolcarders,  usurers,  and  cozening  ribalds " ;  and 
Eustache  Deschamps  speaks  scarcely  less  strongly.  * 
Several  14th-century  mayors  of  London  were  knighted, 
including  John  Chaucer's  fellow-vintner  Picard,  and 
Geoffrey's  colleagues  at  the  Customs,  Walworth, 
Brembre,  and  Philipot. 

But  Brembre  and  Philipot,  Sir  Walter  Besant  has 
reminded  us,  were  probably  members  of  old  country 
families,  who  had  come  to  seek  their  fortunes  in 
London,  t  True ;  but  this  only  shows  us  the  decay  of 
chivalry  on  another  side.  Nothing  could  be  more 
honourable,  or  better  in  the  long  run  for  the  country, 
than  that  there  should  be  such  a  double  current  of 
circulation,  fresh  healthy  blood  flowing  from  the  country 
manor  to  the  London  counting-house,  and  hard  cash 
trickling  back  again  from  the  city  to  the  somewhat 
impoverished  manor.  It  was  magnificent,  but  it  was 
not  chivalry,  at  any  rate  in  the  medieval  sense.     Gower 

*  Sacchetti,  "  Novelle,"  cliii.  ;  Ste-Palaye,  "  Chevalerie,"  ii.,  80. 

t  Mr.  Rye  (/.  c.)  points  out  how  frequent  was  the  interchange  between 
London  and  Lynn.    Another  colleague  of  John  Chaucer's,  John  de  Stodey, 
Mayor  and  Sherift"of  London,  had  been  formerly  a  taverner  at  Lynn. 
o 


194  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

reminded  his  readers  that  even  civil  law  forbade  the 
knight  to  become  merchant  or  trader;  but  the  move- 
ment was  far  too  strong  to  be  checked  by  law.  The 
old  families  had  lost  heavily  by  the  crusades,  by  the 
natural  subdivision  of  estates,  and  by  their  own  extrava- 
gance. Moreover,  the  growing  luxury  of  the  times 
made  them  feel  still  more  acutely  the  limitation  of 
their  incomes ;  and  the  moneylenders  of  Chaucer's  day 
found  their  best  customers  among  country  magnates. 
"The  city  usurer,"  writes  Gower,  "keeps  on  hire  his 
brokers  and  procurers,  who  search  for  knights,  vava- 
sours and  squires.  When  these  have  mortgaged  their 
lands,  and  are  driven  by  need  to  borrow,  then  these 
rascals  lead  them  to  the  usurers ;  and  presently  that 
trick  will  be  played  which  in  modern  jargon  is  called 
the  chevisancc  of  money.  .  .  .  Ah  !  what  a  bargain,  which 
thus  enriches  the  creditor  and  will  ruin  the  debtor!"* 
In  an  age  which  knew  knight-errantry  no  longer,  nothing 
but  the  most  careful  husbandry  could  secure  the  old 
families  in  their  former  pre-eminence;  and  well  it 
was  for  England  that  these  were  early  forced  by  bitter 
experience  to  recognise  the  essential  dignity  of  honest 
commerce.  Edward  I.,  under  the  financial  pressure  of 
his  great  wars,  insisted  that  he  was  "  free  to  buy  and 
sell  like  any  other."  All  the  Kings  were  obliged  to 
travel  from  one  Royal  manor  to  another,  as  M.  Jusserand 
has  pointed  out,  from  sheer  motives  of  economy.f  Wc 
have  already  seen  how  Edward  III.,  even  in  his  pleasures, 
kept  business  accounts  with  a  regularity  which  earned 
him  a  sneer  from  King  John  of  France.  The  Cistercians, 
who  were  probably  the  richest  religious  body  in  England, 
owed  their  wealth  mainly  to  their  success  in  the  wool 

*  "Mirour,"  7225  :  Cf.  "Piers  Plowman,"  C,  vii.,  248.  Readers  of 
Chaucer's  "  Prologue  "  will  remember  this  mysterious  word  "  chevisance  " 
in  connection  with  the  Merchant.  Its  proper  meaning  was  simply 
bargain  :  the  slang  sense  will  be  best  understood  from  a  Royal  ordinance 
of  1365  against  those  who  lived  by  usury  ;  "  which  kind  of  contract,  the 
more  subtly  to  deceive  the  people,  they  call  cxchatige^  or  chcvisaiuep 

t  "  Vie  Nomade,"  pp.  33,  46. 


-I-     J 


KNIGHTS  AND   SQUIRES  195 

trade.  But  perhaps  the  most  curious  evidence  of  this 
kind  may  be  found  in  the  invaluable  collections  from 
the  Berkeley  papers  made  in  the  17th  century  by  John 
Smyth  of  Nibley,  and  published  by  the  Bristol  and 
Gloucester  Archaeological  Society.  We  there  find  a 
series  of  great  barons,  often  holding  distinguished 
offices  in  peace  or  war,  but  always  exploiting  their 
estates  with  a  dogged  unity  of  purpose  which  a  Lom- 
bard might  have  envied.  Thomas  L,  who  held  the 
barony  from  1220  to  1243,  showed  his  business  foresight 
by  letting  a  great  deal  of  land  on  copyhold.  His  son 
(1243-1281)  was  "a  careful  husband,  and  strict  in  all  his 
bargains."  This  Thomas  II.,  who  served  with  distinc- 
tion in  twenty-eight  campaigns,  kept  in  his  own  hands 
from  thirteen  to  twenty  manors,  farming  them  with  the 
most  meticulous  care.  His  accounts  show  that  "  when 
this  lord  was  free  from  foreign  employment,  he  went 
often  in  progress  from  one  of  his  manors  and  farm- 
houses to  another,  scarce  two  miles  asunder,  making  his 
stay  at  each  of  them  for  one  or  two  nights,  overseeing 
and  directing  the  above-mentioned  husbandries."  Lady 
Berkeley  went  on  similar  rounds  from  manor  to  manor 
in  order  to  inspect  the  dairies.  Smyth  gives  amusing 
instances  of  the  baron's  frugalities,  side  by  side  with 
his  generosity.  He  followed  a  policy  of  sub-letting  land 
in  tail  to  tenants,  calculating  "that  the  heirs  of  such 
donees  being  within  age  should  be  in  ward  to  him,  .  .  . 
and  so  the  profit  of  the  land  to  become  his  own  again, 
and  the  value  of  the  marriage  also  to  boot "  :  a  calcula- 
tion which  the  reader  will  presently  be  in  a  better 
position  to  understand.  He  "  would  not  permit  any 
freeman's  w^dow  to  marry  again  unless  she  first  made 
fine  with  him "  (one  poor  creature  who  protested 
against  this  rule  was  fined  ;!^2o  in  modern  money) ; 
and  he  fixed  a  custom,  which  survived  for  centuries 
on  his  manors,  of  seizing  into  his  own  hands  the  estates 
of  all  copyholders'  widows  who  re-married,  or  were 
guilty  of  incontinence.     He  vowed  a  crusade,  but  never 


196      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

performed  it;  his  grandson  paid  a  knight  £ioo  to  go 
instead  of  the  dead  baron.  Lady  Berkeley's  "  elder 
years  were  weak  and  sickly,  part  of  whose  physic  was 
sawing  of  billets  and  sticks,  for  which  cause  she  had 
before  her  death  yearly  bought  certain  fine  hand-saws, 
which  she  used  in  her  chamber,  and  which  commonly 
cost  twopence  a  piece." 

Maurice  III.  (1321-1326)  continued,  or  rather  im- 
proved upon,  his  father's  exact  methods.  Thomas  III. 
(1326-1361)  was  almost  as  great  a  warrior  as  his  grand- 
father, though  less  fortunate.  Froissart  tells  in  his  own 
picturesque  style  how  he  pressed  so  far  forward  at 
Poitiers  as  to  get  himself  badly  wounded  and  taken 
prisoner,  and  how  the  squire  who  took  him  bought 
himself  a  knighthood  out  of  the  ransom.  (Globe  ed., 
p.  127).  Even  more  significant,  perhaps,  are  the  Royal 
commissions  by  which  this  lord  was  deputed  to  raise 
men  for  the  great  war,  and  to  which  I  shall  have  occasion 
to  refer  later  on.  But,  amidst  all  this  public  business, 
Thomas  found  time  to  farm  himself  about  eighty 
manors  !  Like  his  grandfather,  he  was  blessed  with  an 
equally  business-like  helpmeet,  for  when  he  was  abroad 
on  business  or  war,  "his  good  and  frugal  lady  withdrew 
herself  for  the  most  part  to  her  houses  of  least  resort 
and  receipt,  whether  for  her  retirement  or  frugality,  I 
determine  not."  The  doubt  here  expressed  must  be 
merely  rhetorical,  for  Smyth  later  on  records  how  she 
had  a  new  gown  made  for  herself  "of  cloth  furred 
throughout  with  coney-skins  out  of  the  kitchen."  In- 
deed, most  of  the  cloth  and  fur  for  the  robes  of  this  great 
household  came  from  the  estate  itself.  "  In  each  manor, 
and  almost  upon  each  farmhouse,  he  had  a  pigeon-house, 
and  in  divers  manors  two,  and  in  Hame  and  a  few  others 
three;  from  each  house  he  drew  yearly  great  numbers, 
as  1300,  1200,  1000,  850,  700,  650  from  an  house;  and 
from  Hame  in  one  year  21 51  young  pigeons."  These 
figures  serve  to  explain  how  the  baronial  pigeons,  prey- 
ing on  the  crops,  and  so  sacred  that  no  man  might  touch 


KNIGHTS  AND   SQUIRES  197 

them  on  pain  of  life  or  limb,  became  one  of  the  chief 
causes  which  precipitated  the  French  Revolution.  Like 
his  grandfather — and  indeed  like  all  feudal  lords,  from 
the  King  downwards — he  found  justice  a  profitable 
business.  He  "often  held  in  one  year  four  leets  or 
views  of  frankpledge  in  Berkeley  borough,  wherefrom, 
imposing  fourpence  and  sixpence  upon  a  brewing  of 
ale,  and  renting  out  the  toll  or  profit  of  the  wharfage 
and  market  there  to  the  lord  of  the  town,  he  drew 
yearly  from  that  art  more  than  the  rent  of  the  borough."  * 
Again,  he  dealt  in  wardships,  buying  of  Edward  III. 
"for  looo  marks  .  .  .  the  marriage  of  the  heir  of  John  • 
de  la  Ware,  with  the  profits  of  his  lands,  until  the  full 
age  of  the  heir."  He  carried  his  business  habits  into 
every  department  of  life.  In  founding  a  chantry  at 
Newport  he  provided  expressly  by  deed  that  the  priest 
"should  live  chastely  and  honestly,  and  not  come  to 
markets,  ale-houses,  or  taverns,  neither  should  frequent 
plays  or  unlawful  games  ;  in  a  word,  he  made  this  his 
priest  by  these  ordinances  to  be  one  of  those  honest 
men  whom  we  mistakenly  call  puritans  in  these  our 
days."  The  accounts  of  his  tournaments  are  most 
interesting,  and  throw  a  still  clearer  light  on  King 
John's  sneer.  Smyth  notes  that  this  lord  was  a  most 
enthusiastic  jouster,  and  gives  two  years  as  examples 
from  the  accounts  (ist  and  2nd  Ed.  III.).  Yet,  in  all  the 
six  tournaments  which  Lord  Thomas  attended  in  those 
two  years,  he  spent  only  ;^90  i8s.,  or  £1^  3s.  per  tourna- 
ment ;  and  this  at  a  time  when  he  was  saving  money  at 
the  rate  of  £4^0  a  year,  an  economy  which  he  nearly 
trebled  later  on.f  He  evidently  knew,  however,  that 
a   heavy   outlay   upon   occasion  will   repay  itself  with 

*  These  were,  of  course,  fines  for  breaches  of  the  assize  of  ale,  as  in 
the  Norwich  cases  already  mentioned. 

t  In  1347  his  total  income  was  ^2460,  out  of  which  he  saved  ^1150. 
In  the  two  other  years  given  by  Smyth  he  saved  ^659  and  ^977.  Some 
knights  even  made  a  living  by  pot-hunting  at  tournaments.  See  Ch.-Y. 
Langlois,  "  La  Vie  en  France  au  M.  A.,"  1908,  p.  163. 


198  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

interest,  for  we  find  him  paying  £io8  for  a  tower  in 
his  castle ;  and,  whereas  the  park  fence  had  hitherto 
been  of  thorn,  new-made  every  three  years.  Lord  Thomas 
went  to  the  expense  of  an  oaken  paling. 

Maurice  IV.  (1361-1368),  "in  husbandry  his  father's 
true  apprentice,"  not  only  made  considerable  quantities 
of  wine,  cider,  and  perry  from  his  gardens  at  Berkeley, 
but  turned  an  honest  penny  by  selling  the  apples  which 
had  grown  under  the  castle  windows.  Warned  by 
failing  health,  he  tried  to  secure  the  fortune  of  his  eldest 
son,  aged  fourteen,  by  marrying  him  to  the  heiress  of 
Lord  Lisle.  The  girl  was  then  only  seven,  so  it  was 
provided  that  she  should  live  on  in  her  father's  house 
for  four  years  after  the  wedding.  Maurice  soon  died, 
and  Lord  Lisle  bought  from  the  King  the  wardship  of 
his  youthful  son-in-law  for  ;^400  a  year — that  is,  for 
about  a  sixth  of  the  whole  revenue  of  the  estates.  This 
young  Thomas  IV.,  having  at  last  become  his  own 
master  (1368-1417),  "fell  into  the  old  course  of  his 
father's  and  grandfather's  husbandries."  Among  other 
thrifty  bargains,  he  "  bought  of  Henry  Talbot  twenty- 
four  Scottish  prisoners,  taken  by  him  upon  the  land  by 
the  seaside,  in  way  of  war,  as  the  King's  enemies."  * 
He  left  an  only  heiress,  the  broad  lands  were  divided, 
and  the  long  series  of  exact  stewards'  accounts  breaks 
suddenly  off.  The  heir  to  the  peerage.  Lord  James 
Berkeley,  being  involved  in  perpetual  lawsuits,  became 
"a  continual  borrower,  and  often  of  small  sums;  yea, 
of  church  vestments  and  altar-goods."  Not  until  1481 
did  the  good  husbandry  begin  again. 

It  is  probable  that  these  Berkeleys  were  an  excep- 
tionally business-like  family;  but  there  is  similar 
evidence  for  other  great  households,  and  the  intimate 
history  of  our  noble  families  is  far  from  justifying  that 
particular  view  of  chivalry  which  has  lately  found  its 
most  brilliant  exponent  in  William  Morris.  The  custom 
of  modern  Florence,  where  you  may  ring  at  a   marble 

*  Cf.  a  similar  instance  in  Riley,  p.  392. 


KNIGHTS  AND  SQUIRES  199 

palace  and  buy  from  the  porter  a  bottle  of  the  marquis's 
own  wine,  is  simply  a  legacy  of  the  Middle  Ages.*  The 
English  nobles  of  Chaucer's  day  were  of  course  far 
behind  their  Florentine  brethren  in  this  particular 
direction ;  but  that  current  was  already  flowing  strongly 
which,  a  century  later,  was  to  create  a  new  nobility  of 
commerce  and  wealth  in  England. 

The  direct  effect  of  the  great  French  war  on  chivalry 
must  be  reserved  for  discussion  in  another  chapter; 
but  it  is  pertinent  to  point  out  here  one  indirect,  though 
very  potent,  influence.  Apart  from  the  business-like 
way  in  which  towns  were  pillaged,  the  custom  of 
ransoming  prisoners  imported  a  very  definite  commer- 
cial element  into  knightly  life.  In  the  wars  of  the  12th 
and  early  13th  centuries,  when  the  knights  and  their 
mounted  retainers  formed  the  backbone  of  the  army  on 
both  sides,  and  were  sometimes  almost  the  only  com- 
batants, it  is  astounding  to  note  how  few  were  killed 
even  in  decisive  battles.  At  Tinchebrai  (1106),  which 
gave  Henry  I.  the  whole  duchy  of  Normandy,  "  the 
Knights  were  mostly  admitted  to  quarter ;  only  a  few 
escaped ;  the  rest,  400  in  all,  were  taken  prisoners.  .  .  . 
Not  a  single  knight  on  Henry's  side  had  been  slain." 
At  the  "  crushing  defeat"  of  Brenville,  three  years  later, 
"  140  knights  were  captured,  but  only  three  slain  in 
the  battle."  At  Bouvines,  one  of  the  greatest  and  most 
decisive  battles  of  the  Middle  Ages  (12 14),  even  the 
vanquished  lost  only  170  knights  out  of  1500.  At  Lin- 
coln, in  1217,  the  victors  lost  but  one  knight,  and  the 
vanquished  apparently  only  two,  though  400  were 
captured  ;  and  even  at  Lewes  (1264)  the  captives  were 
far  more  numerous  than  the  slain.f  It  was,  in  fact, 
difficult  to  kill  a  fully-armed  man  except  by  cutting  his 
throat  as  he  lay  on  the  ground,  and  from  this  the  victors 
were  generally  deterred  not  only  by  the  freemasonry 

*  The    Shillingford    Letters    show   us    the    Bishop  and   Canons  of 
Exeter  selling  wine  in  the  same  way  at  their  own  houses  (p.  91). 
t  Oman,  "  Art  of  War  in  the  Middle  Ages,"  380  ff. 


200  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

which  reigned  among  knights  and  squires  of  all  nations, 
but  still  more  by  the  wicked  waste  of  money  involved 
in  such  a  proceeding.  "Many  a  good  prisoner"  is  a 
common  phrase  from  Froissart's  pen;  and,  in  recount- 
ing the  battle  of  Poitiers,  he  laments  that  the  archers 
"slew  in  that  affray  many  men  who  could  not  come  to 
ransom  or  mercy."  Though  both  this  and  the  parallel 
phrase  which  he  uses  at  Crecy  leave  us  in  doubt  which 
thought  was  uppermost  in  his  mind,  yet  he  speaks  with 
unequivocal  frankness  about  the  slaughter  of  Aljubar- 
rota :  "  Lo !  behold  the  great  evil  adventure  that  befel 
that  Saturday;  for  they  slew  as  many  prisoners  as 
would  well  have  been  worth,  one  with  another,  four 
hundred  thousand  franks!"*  In  the  days  when  the 
great  chronicler  of  chivalry  wrote  thus,  why  should  not 
Lord  Berkeley  deal  in  Scottish  prisoners  as  his  modern 
descendant  might  deal  in  Canadian  Pacifies? 

It  is,  indeed,  a  fatal  misapprehension  to  assume  that 
a  society  in  which  coin  was  necessarily  scarce  was 
therefore  more  indifferent  to  money  than  our  own  age 
of  millionaires  and  multi-millionaires.  The  underlying 
fallacy  is  scarcely  less  patent  than  that  which  prompted 
a  disappointed  mistress  to  say  of  her  cook,  "  I  did 
think  she  was  honest,  for  she  couldn't  even  read  or 
write  !"  Chaucer's  contemporaries  blamed  the  prevalent 
mammon-worship  even  more  loudly  and  frequently 
than  men  do  now,  with  as  much  sincerity  perhaps,  and 
certainly  with  even  more  cause.  Bribery  was  rampant 
in  every  part  of  14th-century  society,  especially  among 
the  highest  officials  and  in  the  Church.  -Chaucer's  satire 
on  the  Archdeacon's  itching  palm  is  more  than  borne 
out  by  official  documents ;  and  his  contemporaries  speak 
even  more  bitterly  of  the  venality  of  justice  in  general. 
How,  indeed,  could  it  be  otherwise,  in  an  age  when  the 
right  of  holding  courts  was  notoriously  sought  mainly 
for  its  pecuniary  advantages?  In  "Piers  Plowman," 
Lady  Meed  (or,  in  modern  slang,  the  Almighty  Dollar) 

Biichon,  i.,  349,  431  ;  Globe,  349. 


KNIGHTS   AND  SQUIRES  201 

rules  everywhere,  and  not  least  in  the  law  courts. 
Gower  speaks  no  less  plainly.  The  Judges  (he  says) 
are  commonly  swayed  by  gifts  and  personal  considera- 
tions:  "men  say,  and  I  believe  it,  that  justice  nowadays 
is  in  the  balance  of  gold,  which  hath  so  great  virtue; 
for,  if  I  give  more  than  thou,  thy  right  is  not  worth  a 
straw.  Right  without  gifts  is  of  no  avail  with  Judges."  * 
What  Gower  recorded  in  the  most  pointed  Latin  and 
French  he  could  muster,  the  people  whose  voice  he 
claimed  to  echo  wrote  after  their  own  rough  fashion 
in  blood.  The  peasants  who  rose  in  1381  fastened  first 
of  all  upon  what  seemed  their  worst  enemies.  "Then 
began  they  to  show  forth  in  deeds  part  of  their  inmost 
purpose,  and  to  behead  in  revenge  all  and  every  lawyer 
in  the  land,  from  the  half-fledged  pleader  to  the  aged 
justice,  together  with  all  the  jurors  of  the  country  whom 
they  could  catch.  For  they  said  that  all  such  must  first 
be  slain  before  the  land  could  enjoy  true  freedom."  f 

*  "  Mirour,"  24625.  Cf>  the  corresponding  passage  in  the  "Vox 
Clamantis,"  Bk.  VI.  According  to  Hoccleve,  "  Law  is  nye  flemed 
[=  banished]  out  of  this  cuntre  ;"  it  is  a  web  which  catches  the  small 
flys  and  gnats,  but  lets  the  great  flies  go  {Works,  E.E.T.S.,  iii.,  loi  ft".). 

t  Walsingham,  an.  138 1.  The  evil  repute  of  jurors  is  fully  explained 
by  Gower,  "  Mirour,"  25033.  According  to  him,  perjury  had  become 
almost  a  recognized  profession. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HUSBANDS   AT  THE   CHURCH   DOOR 

"  lo  ho  uno  grandissimo  dubbio  di  voi,  ch'io  mi  credo  che  se  ne  salvino 
tanti  pochi  di  quegli  che  sono  in  istato  di  matrimonio,  che  de'  mille,  nove- 
cento  novantanove  credo  che  sia  matrimonio  del  diavolo." 

St.  Bernardino  of  Siexa,  Sermon  xix 

BUT  we  have  as  yet  considered  only  one  side  of 
chivalry.  While  blushing,  like  Gibbon,  to  unite 
such  discordant  names,  let  us  yet  remember  that  the 
knight  was  "the  champion  of  God  and  the  ladies,"  and 
may  therefore  fairly  claim  to  be  judged  in  this  latter 
capacity  also. 

Even  here,  however,  we  find  him  in  practice  just  as 
far  below  either  his  avowed  ideal  or  the  too  favourable 
pictures  of  later  romance.  The  feudal  system,  with 
which  knighthood  was  in  fact  bound  up,  precluded 
chivalry  to  women  in  its  full  modern  sense.  Land 
was  necessarily  held  by  personal  service ;  therefore  the 
woman,  useless  in  war,  must  necessarily  be  given  with 
her  land  to  some  man  able  to  defend  it  and  her.  As 
even  Gautier  admits,  the  woman  was  too  often  a  mere 
appendage  of  the  fief;  and  he  quotes  from  a  chanson  de 
gcstc,  in  which  the  emperor  says  to  a  favoured  knight — 

"  Un  de  CCS  jours  mourra  un  de  mes  pairs  ; 
Toute  la  terre  vous  en  voudrai  donner, 
Et  la  moiller,  si  prendre  la  voiilez."  [femme 

Though  he  is  perhaps  right  in  pleading  that,  as  time 
went  on,  the  compulsion  was  rather  less  barefaced  than 
this,  he  is  still  compelled  sadly  to  acknowledge  of  the 
average  medieval  match  in  high  life  that  "after  all, 
whatever  may  be  said,  those  are  not  the  conditions  of 


jiK  rprojs^         to^ 


19 


snj 


IJ^JTilt 


BRASS   OF  SIR   JOHN   AND   I-ADY   IfARSYCK 
(From  Southacre  Church,  Norfolk  (1384) ) 

(For  the  lady's  cote-hardie  and  buttons,  see  p.  27,  note  2.     Iler  dress 
is  here  embroidered  with  her  own  arms  and  Sir  John's.) 


204  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

a  truly  free  marriage,  or,  to  speak  plainly,  of  a  truly 
Christian  one."  From  this  initial  defect  two  others 
followed  almost  as  a  matter  of  course :  the  extreme 
haste  with  which  marriages  were  concluded,  and  the 
indecently  early  age  at  which  children  were  bound  for 
life  to  partners  whom  they  had  very  likely  never  seen. 
Gautier  quotes  from  another  chanson  de  geste,  where  a 
heroine,  within  a  month  of  her  first  husband's  death, 
remarries  again  on  the  very  day  on  which  her  second 
bridegroom  is  proposed  and  introduced  to  her  for  the 
first  time;  and  the  poet  adds,  "Great  was  the  joy  and 
laughter  that  day!"  The  extreme  promptitude  with 
which  the  Wife  of  Bath  provided  herself  with  a  new 
husband — or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  Chaucer's  own 
mother — is  characteristically  medieval. 

But  child-marriages  were  the  real  curse  of  medieval 
home-life  in  high  society.  The  immaturity  of  the 
parents  could  not  fail  to  tell  often  upon  the  children ; 
and  when  Berthold  of  Regensburg  pointed  out  how 
brief  was  the  average  of  life  among  the  13th-century 
nobility,  and  ascribed  this  to  God's  vengeance  for  their 
heartlessness  towards  the  poor,  he  might  more  truly 
have  traced  the  cause  much  further  back.  "  In  days 
of  old,"  wrote  a  trouvcrc  of  the  12th  century,  "nobles 
married  at  a  mature  age ;  faith  and  loyalty  then  reigned 
everywhere.  But  nowadays  avarice  and  luxury  are 
rampant,  and  two  infants  of  twelve  years  old  are 
wedded  together  :  take  heed  lest  they  breed  children  ! "  * 
The  Church  did,  indeed,  refuse  to  recognize  the  bond 
of  marriage  if  contracted  before  both  parties  had  turned 
seven ;  and  she  further  forbade  the  making  of  such 
contracts  until  the  age  of  twelve  for  the  girl  and  fifteen 
for  the  boy,  though  without  daring,  in  this  case,  to 
impugn  the  validity  of  the  marriage  once  contracted. 
That  the  weaker  should  be  allowed  to  marry  three 
years  earlier  than  the  stronger  sex  is  justified  by  at 
least  one  great  canon  lawyer  on  the  principle  that 
*  Gautier,  loc.  cit.,  p.  352. 


HUSBANDS   AT  THE   CHURCH  DOOR         205 

"ill  weeds  grow  apace";  a  decision  on  which  one 
would  gladly  have  heard  the  comments  of  the  Wife  of 
Bath.*  But  "people  let  the  Church  protest,  and  married 
at  any  age  they  pleased " ;  for  it  was  seldom  indeed 
that  the  ecclesiastical  prohibition  was  enforced  against 
influence  or  wealth,  and  the  Church  herself,  theory 
apart,  was  directly  responsible  for  many  of  the  worst 
abuses  in  this  matter.  Her  determination  to  keep  the 
whole  marriage-law  in  her  own  hands,  combined  with 
her  readiness  to  sell  dispensations  from  her  own  regu- 
lations, resulted  in  a  state  of  things  almost  incredible. 
On  the  one  hand,  a  marriage  was  nullified  by  cousin- 
ship  to  the  fourth  degree,  and  even  by  the  fact  of  the 
contracting  parties  having  ever  stood  as  sponsors  to 
the  same  child,  unless  a  papal  dispensation  had  been 
bought;  and  this  absurd  severity  not  only  nullified  in 
theory  half  the  peasants'  marriages  (since  nearly  every- 
body is  more  or  less  related  in  a  small  village),  but 
gave  rise  to  all  sorts  of  tricks  for  obtaining  fraudulent 
divorces.  To  quote  again  from  Gautier,  who  tries  all 
through  to  put  the  best  possible  face  on  the  matter : 
"  After  a  few  years  of  marriage,  a  husband  who  had 
wearied  of  his  wife  could  suddenly  discover  that  they 
were  related  .  .  .  and  here  was  a  revival,  under  canonical 
and  pious  forms,  of  the  ancient  practice  of  divorce." 
It  is  the  greatest  mistake  to  suppose  that  divorce  was 
a  difficult  matter  in  the  Middle  Ages ;  it  was  simply 
a  question  of  money,  as  honest  men  frequently  com- 
plained. The  Church  courts  were  ready  to  "  make  and 
unmake  matrimony  for  money";  and  "for  a  mantle  of 
miniver"  a  man  might  get  rid  of  his  lawful  wife.f  An 
actual  instance  is  worth  many  generalities.  In  the  first 
quarter  of  the  14th  century  a  Pope  allowed  the  King 
and  Queen  of  France  to  separate  because  they  had  once 
been  godparents  to  the  same  child ;  and  at  the  same 
time  sold  a  dispensation  to  a  rich  citizen  who  had  twice 

*  Lyndwood,  "  Provinciale,"  ed.  Oxon.,  p.  272. 
t  "  Piers  Plowman,"  B.,  xv.,  237,  and  xx.,  137. 


206      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

contracted  the  same  relationship  to  the  lady  whom  he 
now  wished  to  marry.  The  collocation,  in  this  case, 
was  piquant  enough  to  beget  a  clever  pasquinade,  which 
was  chalked  up  at  street  corners  in  Paris.  John  XXII. 
probably  laughed  with  the  rest,  and  went  on  as  before. 

On  the  one  hand,  then,  the  marriage  law  was  theo- 
retically of  the  utmost  strictness,  though  only  to  the 
poor  man ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  of  the  most 
incredible  laxity.  A  boy  of  fifteen  and  a  girl  of  twelve 
might,  at  any  time  and  in  any  place,  not  only  without 
leave  of  parents,  but  against  all  their  wishes,  contract 
an  indissoluble  marriage  by  mere  verbal  promise,  with- 
out any  priestly  intervention  whatever.  In  other  words, 
the  whole  world  in  Chaucer's  time  was  a  vaster  and 
more  commodious  Gretna  Green.*  Moreover,  not  only 
the  civil  power,  but  apparently  even  the  Church,  some- 
times hesitated  to  enforce  even  such  legal  precautions 
as  existed  against  scandalous  child-marriages.  A  stock 
case  is  quoted  at  length  in  the  contemporary  "  Life  of 
St.  Hugh  of  Lincoln"  (R.S.,  pp.  170-177),  and  fully 
corroborated  by  official  documents.  A  wretched  child 
who  had  just  turned  four  was  believed  to  be  an  heiress; 
a  great  noble  took  her  to  wife.  He  died  two  years 
later;  she  was  at  once  snapped  up  by  a  second  noble; 
and  on  his  death,  when  she  was  apparently  still  only 
eleven,  and  certainly  not  much  older,  she  was  bought 
for  300  marks  by  a  third  knightly  bridegroom.  The 
bishop,  though  he  excommunicated  the  first  husband, 
and  deprived  the  priest  who  had  openly  married  him 
"in  the  face  of  the  church,"  apparently  made  no  attempt 
to  declare  the  marriage  null ;  and  the  third  husband  was 
still  enjoying  her  estate  twenty  years  after  his  wedding- 

*  Pollock  and  Maitland,  "History  of  English  Law,"  vol.  i.,  p.  387; 
Lyndwood,  "  Provinciale,"  pp.  271  ff.  It  is  the  more  necessary  to  insist 
on  this,  because  of  a  serious  error,  based  on  a  misreading  of  Bishop 
Quivil's  injunctions.  The  bishop  does,  indeed,  proclaim  his  right  and 
duty  of  punisliifig  the  parties  to  a  clandestine  marriage  ;  but,  so  far  from 
flying  in  the  face  of  Canon  Law  by  threatening  to  dissolve  the  contract, 
he  expressly  admits,  in  the  same  breath,  its  binding  force. — Wilkins,  ii.,  135. 


HUSBANDS   AT  THE   CHURCH   DOOR        207 

day.  In  the  face  of  instances  like  this  (for  another, 
scarcely  less  startling,  may  be  found  in  Luce's  "  Du 
Guesclin,"  p.  139),  we  need  no  longer  wonder  that  our 
poet's  father  was  carried  off  in  his  earliest  teens  to  be 
married  by  force  to  some  girl  perhaps  even  younger;  or 
that  in  Chaucer's  own  time,  when  the  middle  classes 
were  rapidly  gaining  more  power  in  the  state.  Parlia- 
ment legislated  expressly  against  the  frequent  offences 
of  this  kind. 

But  the  real  root  of  the  evil  remained ;  so  long  as 
two  children  might,  in  a  moment  and  without  any 
religious  ceremony  whatever,  pledge  their  persons  and 
their  properties  for  life,  no  legislation  could  be  per- 
manently effectual.  From  the  moral  side,  we  find  Church 
councils  fulminating  desperately  against  the  celebration 
of  marriages  in  private  houses  or  taverns,  sometimes 
even  after  midnight,  and  with  the  natural  concomitants 
of  riot  and  excess.  From  the  purely  civil  side,  again, 
apart  from  runaway  or  irregular  matches,  there  was 
also  the  scandalous  frequency  of  formal  child-marriages 
which  were  often  the  only  security  for  the  transmission 
of  property;  and  here  even  the  Church  admitted  the 
thin  end  of  the  wedge  by  permitting  espousals  "  of 
children  in  their  cradles,"  by  way  of  exception,  "  for 
the  sake  of  peace."  *  Let  me  quote  here  again  from 
Smyth's  "  Lives  of  the  Berkeleys."  We  there  find, 
between  1288  and  1500,  five  marriages  in  which  the  ten 
contracting  parties  averaged  less  than  eleven  years. 
Maurice  the  Third,  born  in  1281,  was  only  eight  years 
old  when  he  married  a  wife  apparently  of  the  same  age ; 
their  eldest  child  was  born  before  the  father  was  fifteen  ; 
and  the  loyal  Smyth  comforts  himself  by  reciting  from 
Holy  Scripture  the  still  more  precocious  examples  of 
Josiah  and  Solomon.  It  would  be  idle  to  multiply 
instances  of  so  notorious  a  fact;  but  let  us  take  one 
more  case  which  touched  all  England,  and  must  have 
come  directly  under  Chaucer's  notice.     When  the  good 

*  Wilkins»  "  Concilia,"  i.,  478. 


208  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

Queen  Anne  of  Bohemia  was  dead,  for  whose  sake 
Richard  II.  would  never  afterwards  live  in  his  palace 
of  Shene,  it  was  yet  necessary  for  his  policy  to  take 
another  wife.  He  chose  the  little  daughter  of  the 
French  King,  then  only  seven  years  old,  in  spite  of  the 
remonstrances  of  his  subjects.  The  pair  were  affianced 
by  proxy  in  1395;  "and  then  (as  I  have  been  told)  it 
was  pretty  to  see  her,  young  as  she  was ;  for  she  very 
well  knew  already  how  to  play  the  queen."  Next  year, 
the  two  Kings  met  personally  between  Guines  and 
Ardres,  the  later  "  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,"  and  sat 
down  to  meat  together.  "  Then  said  the  Due  de  Bourbon 
man}'^  joyous  and  merry  words  to  make  the  kings  laugh. 
.  .  .  And  he  spake  aloud,  addressing  himself  to  the  King 
of  England,  'My  Lord  King  of  England,  you  should 
make  good  cheer;  you  have  all  that  you  desire  and  ask ; 
you  have  your  wife,  or  shall  have ;  she  shall  be  delivered 
to  you!'  Then  said  the  King  of  France,  'Cousin  of 
Bourbon,  we  would  that  our  daughter  were  as  old  as 
our  cousin  the  lady  de  St.  Pol.  She  would  bear  the 
more  love  to  our  son  the  King  of  England,  and  it  would 
have  cost  us  a  heavy  dowry.'  The  King  of  England 
heard  and  understood  this  speech ;  v/herefore  he 
answered,  inclining  himself  towards  the  King  of  France 
(though,  indeed,  the  word  had  been  addressed  to  the 
Duke,  since  the  King  had  made  the  comparison  of  the 
daughter  of  the  Comte  de  St.  Pol),  '  Fair  father,  we  are 
well  pleased  with  the  present  age  of  our  wife,  and  we 
love  not  so  much  that  she  should  be  of  great  age  as  we 
take  account  of  the  love  and  alliance  of  our  own  selves 
and  our  kingdoms;  for  when  we  shall  be  at  one  accord 
and  alliance  together,  there  is  no  king  in  Christendom 
or  elsewhere  who  could  gainsay  us.'"  *  The  Royal  pair 
proceeded  at  once  to  Calais,  and  the  formal  wedding  took 
place  three  days  later  in  the  old  church  of  St.  Nicholas, 
which  to  Ruskin  was  a  perpetual  type  of  "the  links 
unbroken  between  the  past  and  present." 
*  Froissart,  Ikichon,  iii.,  235,  258. 


HUSBANDS   AT  THE   CHURCH   DOOR        209 

What  kings  were  obliged  to  do  at  one  time  for 
political  purposes,  they  would  do  at  other  times  for 
money ;  and  their  subjects  followed  suit.  As  one  of  the 
authors  of  "  Piers  Plowman  "  puts  it,  the  marriage  choice 
should  depend  on  personal  qualities,  and  Christ  will 
then  bless  it  with  sufficient  prosperity. 

**  But  few  folk  now  follow  this  ;  for  they  give  their  children 
For  covetise  of  chattels  and  cunning  chapmen  ; 
Of  kin  nor  of  kindred  account  men  but  little  ... 
Let  her  be  unlovely,  unlovesome  abed, 
A  bastard,  a  bondmaid,  a  beggar's  daughter, 
That  no  courtesy  can  ;   but  let  her  be  known 
For  rich  or  well-rented,  though  she  be  wrinkled  for  elde, 
There  is  no  squire  nor  knight  in  country  about, 
But  will  bow  to  that  bondmaid,  to  bid  her  an  husband, 
And  wedden  her  for  her  wealth  ;  and  wish  on  the  morrow 
That  his  wife  were  wax,  or  a  wallet-full  of  nobles  !"  * 

Moreover,  this  picture  is  abundantly  borne  out  by 
plain  facts  and  plain  speech  from  other  quarters. 
Richard  II.'s  first  marriage,  which  turned  out  so 
happily  when  the  boy  of  sixteen  and  the  girl  of 
fifteen  had  grown  to  know  each  other,  was,  in  its 
essence,  a  bargain  of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  A 
contemporary  chronicler,  recording  how  Richard  offered 
an  immense  sum  for  her  in  order  to  outbid  his  Royal 
brother  of  France,  heads  his  whole  account  of  the 
transaction  with  the  plain  words,  "The  king  buys 
himself  a  wife."  t  Gaston,  Count  of  Foix,  whom  Frois- 
sart  celebrates  as  a  mirror  of  courtesy  among  con- 
temporary princes,  had  a  little  ward  of  twelve  whose 
hand  was  coveted  by  the  great  Due  de  Berri,  verging 
on  his  fiftieth  year.     But  Gaston  came  most  unwillingly 

*  "  Piers  Plowman,"  C,  xi.,  256.  Gower  speaks  still  more  strongly 
if  possible,  "  Mirour,"  17245  ff.  Chaucer's  friend  Hoccleve  makes  the 
same  complaint  (E.E.T.S.,  vol.  iii.,  p.  60),  and  these  practices  outlasted 
the  Reformation,  The  curious  reader  should  consult  Dr.  Furnivall's 
"  Child  Marriages  and  Divorces  "  (E.E.T.S.,  1897). 

t  "Adam  of  Usk,"  p.  3  ;  cf.  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  355  (where  the  price 
is  given  as  22,000  marks),  and  237,  where  the  negotiations  for  another 
Royal  marriage  are  described  with  equally  brutal  frankness. 
p 


210  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

to  the  point:  "Yet  was  he  not  unwilling  to  suffer  that 
the  marriage  should  take  place,  but  he  intended  to  have 
a  good  sum  of  florins ;  not  that  he  put  forward  that  he 
meant  to  sell  the  lady,  but  he  wished  to  be  rewarded  for 
his  wardship,  since  he  had  had  and  nourished  her  for 
some  nine  years  and  a  half,  wherefore  he  required 
thirty  thousand  francs  for  her."*  Dr.  Gairdner  has 
cited  equally  plain  language  used  •  in  the  following 
century  by  a  member  of  the  noble  family  of  Scrope, 
whose  estate  had  become  much  impoverished.  " '  For 
very  need,'  he  writes,  *  I  was  fain  to  sell  a  little 
daughter  I  have  for  much  less  than  I  should  have 
done  by  possibility' — a  considerable  point  in  his  com- 
plaint being  evidently  the  lowness  of  the  price  he  got 
for  his  own  child."  Down  to  the  very  lowest  rung  of 
the  social  ladder,  marriage  was  to  a  great  extent  a 
matter  of  money  ;  and  if  we  could  look  into  the  manor- 
rolls  of  Chaucer's  perfect  gentle  Knight,  we  should 
find  that  one  source  of  his  income  was  a  tax  on  each 
poor  serf  for  leave  to  take  a  fellow-bondmaid  to  his 
bosom. t  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  pair  dispensed 
with  any  marriage  ceremony,  then  they  must  pay  a 
heavy  fine  to  the  archdeacon.  Yet,  even  so,  marriage 
was  not  business-like  enough  for  some  satirists. 
Chaucer's  fellow-poet,  Eustache  Deschamps,  echoes  the 
complaint,  already  voiced  in  the  "  Roman  de  la  Rose," 
that  one  never  buys  a  horse  or  other  beast  without 
full  knowledge  of  all  its  points,  whereas  one  takes  a 
wife  like  a  pig  in  a  poke.  J  The  complaint  has,  of  course, 
been   made  before  and  since ;   but  Bishop  Stapledon's 

Froissart,  Buchon,  ii.,  758. 

t  "  Paston  Letters,"  1901,  Introcl.,  p.  clxxvi.  ;  cf.  for  example,  Thorold 
Rogers'  "  Hist,  of  Ag.  and  Prices,"  ii.,  608.  "  Alegge,  the  daughter  of 
John,  son  of  Utting,"  pays  only  is.  for  her  marriage ;  but  "  Alice's 
daughter"  pays  6s.  8tf.  ;  and  so  on  to  "Will,  the  son  of  John,"  and 
"  Roger  the  Reeve,"  who  pay  each  20^.,  or  something  like  ^20  in  modern 
value.  The  merchet  was  directly  chargeable  to  the  father  ;  but  the 
bridegroom  must  often  have  had  to  pay  it. 

X  Sarradin,  "  Deschamps,"  p.  256. 


HUSBANDS  AT  THE   CHURCH   DOOR        211 

register  may  testify  that   it  was  seldom  less  justified 
than  in  Chaucer's  time. 

Such  was  one  side  of  marriage  in  the  days  of 
chivalry.  A  woman  could  inherit  property,  but  seldom 
defend  it.  The  situation  was  too  tempting  to  man's 
cupidity ;  and  no  less  temptation  was  offered  by  the 
equally  helpless  class  of  orphans.  A  wardship,  which 
in  our  days  is  generally  an  honourable  and  thankless 
burden,  was  in  Chaucer's  time  a  lucrative  and  coveted 
windfall.  In  London  the  city  customs  granted  a  guardian, 
for  his  trouble,  ten  per  cent,  of  the  ward's  property 
every  year.*  This  was  an  open  bargain  which,  in  the 
hands  of  an  honourable  citizen,  restored  to  the  ward 
his  patrimony  with  increase,  but  gave  the  guardian 
enough  profit  to  make  such  wardships  a  coveted  privi- 
lege even  among  well-to-do  citizens.  Elsewhere,  where 
the  customs  were  probably  less  precisely  marked — and 
certainly  the  legal  checks  were  fewer — wardships  were 
treated  even  more  definitely  as  profitable  windfalls. 
We  have  seen  how  the  Baron  of  Berkeley  paid  ;^io,ooo 
in  modern  money  for  a  single  ward  ;  Chaucer,  as  we 
know  from  a  contemporary  document,  made  some 
;^i5oo  out  of  his,  and  Gaston  de  Foix  a  proportionately 
greater  sum.  Moreover,  even  great  persons  did  not 
blush  to  buy  and  sell  wardships,  from  the  King  down- 
wards. The  above-quoted  Stephen  Scrope,  who  sold 
his  own  daughter  as  a  matter  of  course,  is  indignant 
with  his  guardian.  Sir  John  Fastolf,  who  had  sold  him 
to  the  virtuous  Chief  Justice  Gascoigne  for  500  marks, 

*  Riley,  p.  379.  It  must,  however,  be  remembered  that  the 
ordinary  rate  of  interest  then  was  twenty  per  cent.  Thus  Robert  de 
Brynkeleye  receives  the  wardship  of  Thomas  atte  Boure,  who  had  a 
patrimony  of  ^300  (14th-century  standard).  With  this  Robert  trades, 
paying  his  twenty  per  cent,  for  the  use  of  it,  so  that  he  has  to  account  for 
^1080  at  the  heir's  majority.  Of  this  he  takes  ^120  for  keep  and  out-of- 
pocket  expenses,  and_2^39o  for  his  trouble,  so  that  the  ward  receives  ^570. 
The  Royal  Household  Ordinances  of  Edward  II.'s  reign  provide  for  the 
maintenance  of  wards  until  "  they  have  their  lands,  or  the  king  have 
given  or  sold  them." — "  Life  Records,"  ii.,  p.  19. 


21B      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

"through  which  sale  I  took  a  sickness  that  kept  me 
a  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  ensuing;  whereby  I  am 
disfigured  in  my  person,  and  shall  be  whilst  1  live." 
Gascoigne  had  purchased  Scrope  for  one  of  his  own 
daughters.  Fastolf  bought  him  back  again  to  avoid 
such  a  mesalliance ;  but  the  costs  of  each  transfer,  and 
something  more,  came  out  of  the  hapless  ward's  estate. 
"  He  bought  and  sold  me  as  a  beast,  against  all  right 
and  law,  to  mine  own  hurt  more  than  a  thousand 
marks."  Moreover,  the  means  that  were  taken  to  avoid 
such  disastrous  wardships  became  themselves  one  of 
the  most  active  of  the  many  forces  which  undermined 
the  strict  code  of  chivalry.  A  knight,  in  theory,  was 
capable  of  looking  after  himself;  therefore  careful  and 
influential  parents  like  the  Berkeleys  sought  to  protect 
their  heirs  by  knighthood  from  falling  into  wardships 
as  minors,  in  defiance  of  the  rule  which  placed  the 
earliest  limit  at  twenty-one.  Thus  Maurice  de  Berkeley 
(IV.)  was  knighted  in  1339  at  the  age  of  seven,  and 
one  of  his  descendants  in  1476  at  the  age  of  five ;  and 
Eustache  Deschamps  complains  of  the  practice  as  one 
of  the  open  sores  of  contemporary  chivalry — 

"  Et  encore  plus  me  confond, 
Ce  que  Chevaliers  se  font 
Plusieurs  trop  petitement, 
Qui  dix  ou  qui  sept  ans  n'ont."  * 

The  practice  shows  equally  clearly  how  hollow  the 
dignity  was  becoming,  and  how  little  an  unprotected 
child  could  count  upon  chivalric  consideration,  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  word. 

Nor  can  these  bargains  in  women  and  orphans  be 
treated  as  a  mere  accident;  they  formed  an  integral 
part  of  medieval  life,  and  influenced  deeply  all  social 

•  Ste-Palaye,  loc.  cit.^  i.,  64  ft".  ;  ii.,  90.  This  rule  of  age,  like  all  others, 
had,  however,  been  broken  from  the  first.  As  early  as  1060,  Geoffrey 
of  Anjou  knighted  his  nephew  Fulk  at  the  age  of  17  ;  and  such  inci- 
dents are  common  in  epics.  Princes  of  the  blood  were  knighted  in  their 
cradles. 


HUSBANDS   AT  THE   CHURCH    DOOR        213 

relations.  The  men  who  bought  their  wives  like 
chattels  were  only  too  likely  to  treat  them  accordingly. 
Take  from  the  14th  and  early  15th  centuries  two  well- 
known  instances,  which  would  be  utterly  inconceivable 
in  this  unchivalrous  age  of  ours.  Edward  I.  hung  up 
the  Countess  of  Buchan  in  a  wooden  cage  on  the  walls 
of  Berwick  "that  passers-by  might  gaze  on  her";  and 
when  a  woman  accused  a  Franciscan  friar  of  treason- 
able speeches,  the  King's  justiciar  decided  that  the  two 
should  proceed  to  wager  of  battle,  the  friar  having  one 
hand  tied  behind  his  back.  At  the  best,  the  knight's 
oath  provided  no  greater  safeguard  for  women  than 
the  unsworn  but  inbred  courtesy  of  a  modern  gentle- 
man. When  the  peasant  rebels  of  1381  broke  into  the 
Tower,  and  some  miscreants  invited  the  Queen  Mother 
to  kiss  them,  "yet  (strange  to  relate)  the  many  knights 
and  squires  dared  not  rebuke  one  of  the  rioters  for 
acts  so  indecent,  or  lay  hold  of  them  to  stop  them,  or 
even  murmur  under  their  breath."  * 

But  the  strangest  fact  to  modern  minds  is  the 
prevalence  of  wife-beating,  sister-beating,  daughter- 
beating.  The  full  evidence  would  fill  a  volume;  but 
no  picture  of  medieval  life  can  be  even  approximately 
complete  without  more  quotations  than  are  commonly 
given  on  this  subject.  In  the  great  epics,  when  the 
hero  loses  his  temper,  the  ladies  of  his  house  too  often 
suffer  in  face  or  limb.  Gautier,  in  a  chapter  already 
referred  to,  quotes  a  large  number  of  instances ;  but 
the  words  of  contemporary  law-givers  and  moralists 
are  even  more  significant.  The  theory  was  based,  of 
course,  on  Biblical  texts ;  if  God  had  meant  woman  for 
a  position  of  superiority,  he  would  have  taken  her  from 
Adam's  head  rather  than  from  his  side.f  Her  inferiority 
is  thus  proclaimed  almost  on  the  first  page  of  Holy 
Scripture;     and    inferiority,    in    an    age    of   violence, 

*  Walsingham,  ann.  1307,  1381  ;  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  189,  389.    The 
woman  avoided  the  battle  only  by  withdrawing  her  accusation, 
t  Gower,  "  Mirour,"  17521. 


214  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

necessarily  involves  subjection  to  corporal  punishment. 
Gautier  admits  that  it  was  already  a  real  forward  step 
when  the  13th-century  "Coutumes  du  Beauvoisis  "  en- 
acted that  a  man  must  beat  his  wife  "  only  in  reason."  A 
very  interesting  theological  dictionary  of  early  14th 
century  date,  preserved  in  the  British  Museum  (6  E. 
VI.  214A),  expresses  the  ordinary  views  of  cultured 
ecclesiastics.  "  Moreover  a  man  may  chastise  his  wife 
and  beat  her  by  way  of  correction,  for  she  forms  part 
of  his  household;  so  that  he,  the  master,  may  chastise 
that  which  is  his,  as  it  is  written  in  the  Gloss  [to  Canon 
Law]."  Not  long  after  Chaucer's  death,  St.  Bernardino 
of  Siena  grants  the  same  permission,  even  while  re- 
buking the  immoderate  abuse  of  marital  authority. 
"  There  are  men  who  can  bear  more  patiently  with  a 
hen  that  lays  a  fresh  egg  every  day,  than  with  their 
own  wives;  and  sometimes  when  the  hen  breaks  a 
pipkin  or  a  cup  he  will  spare  it  a  beating,  simply  for 
love  of  the  fresh  egg  which  he  is  unwilling  to  lose. 
O  raving  madmen  1  who  cannot  bear  a  word  from  their 
own  wives,  though  they  bear  them  such  fair  fruit ;  but 
when  the  woman  speaks  a  word  more  than  they  like, 
then  they  catch  up  a  stick  and  begin  to  cudgel  her ; 
while  the  hen,  that  cackles  all  day  and  gives  you  no 
rest,  you  take  patience  with  her  for  the  sake  of  her 
miserable  egg — and  sometimes  she  will  break  more  in 
your  house  than  she  herself  is  worth,  yet  you  bear  it 
in  patience  for  the  egg's  sake !  Many  fidgetty  fellows 
who  sometimes  see  their  wives  turn  out  less  neat  and 
dainty  than  they  would  like,  smite  them  forthwith ; 
and  meanwhile  the  hen  may  make  a  mess  on  the  table, 
and  you  suffer  her.  .  .  .  Don't  you  see  the  pig  too, 
always  squeaking  and  squealing  and  making  your  house 
filthy;  yet  you  suffer  him  until  the  time  for  slaughter- 
ing, and  your  patience  is  only  for  the  sake  of  his  flesh 
to  eat!  Consider,  rascal,  consider  the  noble  fruit  of 
thy  wife,  and  have  patience;  it  is  not  right  to  beat  her 
for   every   cause,   no!"      In   another  sermon,  speaking 


HUSBANDS   AT   THE   CHURCH   DOOR        215 

of  the  extravagant  and  sometimes  immodest  fashions 
of  the  day,  he  says  to  the  over-dressed  woman  in  his 
congregation,  "  Oh,  if  it  were  my  business,  if  I  were 
your  husband,  I  would  give  you  such  a  drubbing  with 
feet  and  fists,  that  I  would  make  you  remember  for 
a  while ! "  *  Lastly,  let  us  take  the  manual  which 
Chaucer's  contemporary,  the  Knight  of  La  Tour  Landry, 
wrote  for  the  education  of  his  daughters,  and  which 
became  at  once  one  of  the  most  popular  books  of  the 
Middle  Ages.f  The  good  knight  relates  quite  naturally 
several  cases  of  assault  and  battery,  of  which  the  first 
may  suffice.  A  man  had  a  scolding  wife,  who  railed 
ungovernably  upon  him  before  strangers.  "And  he, 
that  was  angry  of  her  governance,  smote  her  with  his 
fist  down  to  the  earth  ;  and  then  with  his  foot  he  struck 
her  in  the  visage  and  brake  her  nose,  and  all  her  life 
after  she  had  her  nose  crooked,  the  which  shent  and 
disfigured  her  visage  after,  that  she  might  not  for  shame 
show  her  visage,  it  was  so  foul  blemished  :  [for  the  nose 
is  the  fairest  member  that  man  or  woman  hath,  and 
sitteth  in  the  middle  of  the  visage].  And  this  she  had 
for  her  evil  and  great  language  that  she  was  wont  to 
say  to  her  husband.  And  therefore  the  wife  ought  to 
suffer  and  let  the  husband  have  the  words,  and  to  be 
master.  .  .  ." 

What  was  sauce  for  women  was,  of  course,  sauce 
for  children  also.  Uppingham  is  far  from  being  the 
only  English  school  which  has  for  its  seal  a  picture  of 
the  pedagogue  dominating  with  his  enormous  birch 
over  a  group  of  tiny  urchins.  At  the  Universities, 
when  a  student  took  a  degree  in  grammar,  he  "  received 
as  a  symbol  of  his  office,  not  a  book  like  Masters  of  the 
other   Faculties,  but   two  to   him   far   more   important 

♦  "  Prediche  Volgari,"  ii.,  115,  and  iii.,  176. 

t  I  quote  from  the  15th-century  English  translation  published  by  the 
E.E.T.S.  (pp.  25,  27,  81  ;  cf.  23,  95  ;  the  square  bracket  is  transferred 
from  p.  23).  Between  1484  and  1538  there  were  at  least  eight  editions 
printed  in  French,  English,  and  German. 


216  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

academical  instruments — a  'palmer'  and  a  birch,  and 
thereupon  entered  upon  the  discharge  of  the  most 
fundamental  and  characteristic  part  of  his  official  duties 
by  flogging  a  boy  '  openlye  in  the  Scolys.'  Having 
paid  a  groat  to  the  Bedel  for  the  birch,  and  a  similar 
sum  to  the  boy  '  for  hys  labour,'  the  Inceptor  became  a 
fully  accredited  Master  in  Grammar."  *  At  home,  girls 
and  boys  were  beaten  indiscriminately.  One  of  the 
earliest  books  of  household  conduct,  "  How  the  Good 
Wife  taught  her  Daughter,"  puts  the  matter  in  a 
nutshell — 

"  And  if  thy  children  be  rebel,  and*will  not  them  low, 

If  any  of  them  misdoeth,  neither  ban  them  nor  blow       [curse  nor  cuflf 

But  take  a  smart  rod,  and  beat  them  on  a  row 

Till  they  cry  mercy,  and  be  of  their  guilt  aknow."  [acknowledge 

*  Rashdall,  "  Universities  of  Europe,"  ii.,  599. 


SKAl.   ()!■    II'IMXCHAM    SCIIOOl, 


COKi'OKAl.   ITMSII  .MI-:\  I     IN   A  ]  IT  i  l-(  KNIUKN' 
(LASS  ROOM 

(KK"M     Ms.    K'DV.    \  I.    H.   O.    f.   L'14) 


And  iv/  //  ; 

77;,-  hir.lu-: 

It  nmh/.'l  I. 

I  wOH/i  inv  ii,a-:l,-nv.-n-  a  l,ai.\ 

And  all  lli<  IhwA;-x  h.M,i,.lrs  nrr,; 

.  Iii.l  I  iiivxrif  a  /ollr  Inntterc: 

To  hlon-  'my  lu'ril  I  iivnid  not  ^/■a,;-  ! 

■•  iiai',;-s  A',.,./-,"  i:.i:.  y.s..  p.  r\ 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  GAY  SCIENCE 

"  Madame,  whilom  I  was  one 
That  to  my  father  had  a  king  ; 
But  I  was  slow,  and  for  nothing 
Me  liste  not  to  Love  obey  ; 
And  that  I  now  full  sore  abey.  .  .  . 
Among  the  gentle  nation 
Love  is  an  occupation 
Which,  for  to  keep  his  lustes  save, 
Should  every  gentle  hearte  have." 

GOWER,  "Confessio  Amantis,"  Bk.  IV 

THE  facts  given  in  the  foregoing  chapter  may  explain 
a  good  deal  in  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue  that 
might  otherwise  be  ascribed  to  wide  poetical  licence ; 
but  they  may  seem  strangely  at  variance  with  the 
"Knight's  Tale"  or  the  "Book  of  the  Duchess."  The 
contradiction,  however,  lies  only  on  the  surface. 
Neither  flesh  nor  spirit  can  suffer  extreme  starvation. 
When  the  facts  of  life  are  particularly  sordid,  then  that 
"large  and  liberal  discontent,"  which  is  more  or  less 
rooted  in  every  human  breast,  builds  itself  an  ideal 
world  out  of  those  very  materials  which  are  most 
conspicuously  and  most  painfully  lacking  in  the  un- 
grateful reality.  The  conventional  platonism  and  self- 
sacrifice  of  love,  according  to  the  knightly  theory,  was  in 
strict  proportion  to  its  rarity  in  knightly  practice.  We 
must,  of  course,  beware  of  the  facile  assumption  that 
these  medieval  jnariages  de  convoiance  were  so  much 
less  happy  than  ours  ;  nothing  in  human  nature  is  more 
marvellous  than  its  adaptability;  and  Richard  II.,  for 
instance,    seems    to   have    bought    himself   with  hard 


218  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

cash  as  great  a  treasure  as  that  which  Tennyson's 
Lord  of  Burleigh  won  with  more  subtle  discrimination. 
But  at  least  the  conditions  of  actual  marriage  were 
generally  far  less  romantic  then  than  now;  and, 
at  a  time  when  the  supposed  formal  judgment  of  a 
Court  of  Love,  "that  no  married  pair  can  really  be  in 
love  with  each  other,"  was  accepted  even  as  ben  trovato, 
it  was  natural  that  highly  imaginative  pictures  of  love 
par  amours  should  be  extremely  popular. 

Let  us  consider  again  for  a  moment  the  conditions 
of  life  in  a  medieval  castle.  In  spite  of  a  good  deal  of 
ceremonial  which  has  long  gone  out  of  fashion,  the 
actual  daily  intercourse  between  man  and  woman  was 
closer  there  than  at  present,  in  proportion  as  artificial 
distances  were  greater.  The  lady  might  stand  as  high 
above  the  squire  as  the  heaven  is  in  comparison  with 
the  earth  ;  but  she  had  scarcely  more  privacy  than  on 
board  a  modern  ship.  They  were  constantly  in  each 
other's  sight,  yet  could  never  by  any  possibility  ex- 
change a  couple  of  confidential  sentences  except  by  a 
secret  and  dangerous  rendezvous  in  some  private  room, 
or  by  such  stray  chances  as  some  meeting  on  the  stairs, 
some  accident  which  dispersed  the  hunting-party  and 
left  them  alone  in  the  forest,  or  similar  incidents  conse- 
crated to  romance.  The  three  great  excitements  of  man's 
life — war,  physical  exercise,  and  carousing — touched  the 
ladies  far  less  nearly,  and  left  them  ordinarily  to  a  life 
which  their  modern  sisters  would  condemn  as  hopelessly 
dull.  The  daily-suppressed  craving  for  excitement,  the 
nervous  irritability  generated  by  artificial  constraint, 
explain  many  contrasts  which  are  conspicuous  in 
medieval  manners.  Moreover,  there  were  men  always 
at  hand,  and  always  on  the  watch  to  seize  the  smallest 
chance.  The  Knight  of  La  Tour  Landry  is  not  the  only 
medieval  writer  who  describes  his  own  society  in  very 
much  the  same  downright  words  as  the  Prophet 
Jeremiah  (ch.  v.,  v.  8).  The  very  raisoi  d'etre  of  his 
book  was  the  recollection  how,  in  younger  days,  "  my 


THE   GAY   SCIENCE  219 

fellows  communed  with  ladies  and  gentlewomen,  the 
which  [fellows]  prayed  them  of  love ;  for  there  was 
none  of  them  that  they  might  find,  lady  or  gentlewoman, 
but  they  would  pray  her ;  and  if  that  one  would  not 
intend  to  that,  other  would  anon  pray.  And  whether 
they  had  good  answer  or  evil,  they  recked  never,  for  they 
had  in  them  no  shame  nor  dread  by  the  cause  that 
they  were  so  used.  And  thereto  they  had  fair  language 
and  words ;  for  in  every  place  they  would  have  had 
their  sports  and  their  might.  And  so  they  did  both 
deceive  ladies  and  gentlewomen,  and  bear  forth  divers 
languages  on  them,  some  true  and  some  false,  of  the 
which  there  came  to  divers  great  defames  and  slanders 
without  cause  and  reason.  .  .  .  And  I  asked  them  why 
they  foreswore  them,  saying  that  they  loved  every 
woman  best  that  they  spake  to  :  for  I  said  unto  them, 
'  Sirs,  ye  should  love  nor  be  about  to  have  but  one.' 
But  what  I  said  unto  them,  it  was  never  the  better. 
And  therefore  because  I  saw  at  that  time  the  governance 
of  them,  the  which  I  doubted  that  time  yet  reigneth,  and 
there  be  such  fellows  now  or  worse,  and  therefore  I 
purposed  to  make  a  little  book  ...  to  the  intent  that 
my  daughters  should  take  ensample  of  fair  continuance 
and  good  manners."  The  tenor  of  the  whole  book 
more  than  bears  out  the  promise  of  this  introduction : 
and  the  good  knight  significantly  recommends  his 
daughters  to  fast  thrice  a  week  as  a  sovereign  specific 
against  such  dangers  (pp.  2,  10,  14). 

We  have  seen  how  often  women  were  forbidden 
attendance  at  all  sorts  of  public  dances,  and  even 
weddings ;  and  how  demurely  they  were  bidden  to 
pace  the  streets.  The  accompanying  illustration  from 
a  15th-century  miniature  given  by  Thomas  Wright 
("Womankind  in  Western  Europe,"  p.  157)  shows  on 
the  one  hand  the  formal  way  in  which  girls  were 
expected  to  cross  their  hands  on  their  laps  as  they  sat, 
and  on  the  other  hand  the  licence  which  naturally 
followed   by   reaction   from   so  much  formality.      Both 


220 


CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 


sides  come  out  fully  in  the  Knight's  book.  We  see  a  girl 
losing  a  husband  through  a  freedom  of  speech  with  her 
prospective  fiance  which  seems  to  us  most  natural  and 
innocent ;  while  the  coarsest  words  and  actions  were  per- 
mitted to  patterns  of  chivalry  in  the  presence  of  ladies.  A 
stifling  conventionality  oppressed  the  model  young  lady, 
while  the  less  wise  virgin  rushed  into  the  other  extreme 
of  "  rere-suppers  "  after  bedtime  with  like-minded  com- 
panions of  both  sexes,  and  other  liberties  more  startling 


WISE   AND   LNWISE   VIRGINS 


still*  In  every  generation  moralists  noted  with  pain 
the  gradual  emancipation  of  ladies  from  a  restraint 
which  had  always  been  excessive,  and  had  often  been 
merely  theoretical,  though  those  who  regretted  this 
most  bitterly  in  their  own  time  believed  also  most 
implicitly  in  the  strict  virtues  of  a  golden  past.  Guibert 
of  Nogent  contrasts  the  charming  picture  of  his  own 
chaste  mother  with  what  he  sees  (or  thinks  he  sees) 
around  him  in  St.  Bernard's  days.    "Lord,  thou  knowest 

*  Pp.  8,  1 8,  33,  36,  156,  207,  217,  218,  and  passim. 


THE   GAY   SCIENCE  221 

how  hardly — nay,  almost  how  impossibly — that  virtue 
[of  chastity]  is  kept  by  women  of  our  time  :  whereas 
of  old  there  was  such  modesty  that  scarce  any  marriage 
was  branded  even  by  common  gossip !  Alas,  how 
miserably,  between  those  days  and  ours,  maidenly 
modesty  and  honour  have  fallen  off,  and  the  mother's 
guardianship  has  decayed  both  in  appearance  and  in 
fact;  so  that  in  all  their  behaviour  nothing  can  be  noted 
but  unseemly  mirth,  wherein  are  no  sounds  but  of  jest, 
with  winking  eyes  and  babbling  tongues,  and  wanton 
gait.  .  .  .  Each  thinks  that  she  has  touched  the  lowest 
step  of  misery  if  she  lack  the  regard  of  lovers  ;  and  she 
measures  her  glory  of  nobility  and  courtliness  by  the 
ampler  numbers  of  such  suitors."  Men  were  more 
modest  of  old  than  women  are  now :  the  present  man 
can  talk  of  nothing  but  his  bonnes  fortunes.  "  By  these 
modern  fashions,  and  others  like  them,  this  age  of  ours 
is  corrupted  and  spreads  further  corruption."  In  short, 
it  is  the  familiar  philippic  of  well-meaning  orators  in 
every  age  against  the  sins  of  society,  and  the  familiar 
regret  of  the  good  old  times.  The  Knight  of  La  Tour 
Landry,  again,  would  place  the  age  of  real  modesty 
about  the  time  of  his  own  and  Chaucer's  father,  a 
date  by  which,  according  to  Guibert's  calculations,  the 
growing  shamelessness  of  the  world  ought  long  ago 
to  have  worn  God's  patience  threadbare. 

Each  was  of  course  so  far  right  that  he  lived  (as  we 
all  do)  in  a  time  of  transition,  and  that  he  saw,  as  we 
too  see,  much  that  might  certainly  be  changed  for  the 
better.  These  things  were  even  more  glaring  in  the 
Middle  Ages  than  now.  We  must  not  look  for  too  much 
refinement  of  outward  manners  at  this  early  date ;  but 
even  in  essential  morality  the  girl-heroines  of  medieval 
romance  must  be  placed,  on  the  whole,  even  below  those 
of  the  average  French  novel.*     In  both  cases  we  must, 

*  "  Most  of  the  girls  in  our  '  Chansons  de  Geste '  are  represented  by 
our  poets  as  horrible  Httle  monsters,  .  .  .  shameless,  worse  than  impudent, 
caring  little  whether  the  whole  world  watches  them,  and  obeying  at  all 


222  CHAUCER    AND  HIS   ENGLAND 

of  course,  make  the  same  allowance  ;  it  would  be  equally 
unfair  to  judge  Chaucer's  contemporaries  and  modern 
Parisian  society  strictly  according  to  the  novelist's  or 
the  poet's  pictures.  But  in  either  case  the  popularity 
of  the  type  points  to  a  real  underlying  truth  ;  and  we 
should  err  less  in  taking  the  early  romances  literally 
than  in  accepting  Ivanhoe,  for  instance,  as  a  typical 
picture  of  medieval  love.  No  one  poet  represents  that 
love  so  fully  as  Chaucer,  in  both  its  aspects.  I  say  in 
both,  and  not  in  all,  for  such  love  as  lent  itself  to 
picturesque  treatment  had  then  practically  only  two 
aspects,  the  most  ideal  and  the  most  material.  The 
maiden  whose  purity  of  heart  and  freedom  of  manners 
are  equally  natural  was  not  only  non-existent  at  that 
stage  of  society,  but  inconceivable.  Emelye  is,  within 
her  limits,  as  beautiful  and  touching  a  figure  as  any  in 
poetry ;  but  her  limits  are  those  of  a  figure  in  a  stained- 
glass  window  compared  with  a  portrait  of  Titian's. 
Chaucer  himself  could  not  have  made  her  a  Die  Vernon 
or  an  Ethel  Newcome ;  with  fuller  modelling  and  more 
freedom  of  action  in  the  story,  she  could  at  best  have 
become  a  sort  of  Beatrix  Esmond.  But  of  heavenly 
love  and  earthly  love,  as  they  were  understood  in  his 
time,  our  poet  gives  us  ample  choice.  It  has  long  ago 
been  noted  how  large  a  proportion  of  his  whole  work 
turns  on  this  one  passion.*  As  he  said  of  himself,  he 
had  "  told  of  lovers  up  and  down  more  than  Ovid  makcth 
of  mention":  he  was  "Love's  clerk."  His  earthly  love 
we  may  here  neglect,  only  remembering  that  it  is  never 
merely  wicked,  but  always  relieved  by  wit  and  humour — 
indeed,  by  wit  and  humour  of  his  very  best.     But  his 

hazards  the  mere  brutality  of  their  instincts.  Their  forwardness  is  not 
only  beyond  all  conception,  but  contrary  to  all  probability  and  all  sincere 
observation  of  human  nature."     (iautier,  I.e.,  p.  378. 

*  There  is  a  very  interesting  essay  on  "Chaucer's  Love  Poetry"  in 
the  Cornhill,  vol.  xxxv.,  p.  280.  It  is,  however,  a  j^^ood  deal  spoiled 
by  the  authors  inclusion  of  many  works  once  attributed  to  the  poet,  but 
now  known  to  be  spurious. 


THE   GAY   SCIENCE  223 

heavenly  love,  the  ideal  service  of  chivalry,  deserves 
looking  into  more  closely ;  the  more  so  as  his  notions 
are  so  exactly  those  of  his  time,  except  so  far  as  they 
are  chastened  by  his  rare  sense  of  humour. 

Amor,  die  al  gentil  cuor  ratto  s'apprendc — so  sings 
Francesca  in  Dante's  "  Inferno."  Love  is  to  every 
"gentle"  heart— to  any  one  who  has  not  a  mere  money- 
bag or  clod  of  clay  in  his  breast — not  only  an  unavoid- 
able fate  but  a  paramount  duty.  As  Chaucer's  Arcite 
says,  "A  man  must  needes  love,  maugre  his  head;  he 
may  not  flee  it,  though  he  should  be  dead."  Troilus, 
again,  who  had  come  to  years  of  discretion,  and  earned 
great  distinction  in  war  without  ever  having  felt  the 
tender  passion,  is  so  far  justly  treated  as  a  heathen  and 
a  publican  even  by  the  frivolous  Pandarus,  who  welcomes 
his  conversion  as  unctuously  as  Mr.  Stiggins  might 
have  accepted  Mr.  Weller's — 

Love,  of  his  goodness, 

Hath  thee  converted  out  of  wickedness. 

But  perhaps  the  best  instance  is  that  afforded  by  the 
famous  medieval  romance  of  "Petit  Jean  de  Saintre" 
(chaps,  i.-iv.).  Jean,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  became  page 
to  the  chivalrous  King  John  of  France;  as  nearly  as 
possible  at  the  same  time  as  Chaucer  was  serving  the 
Duchess  of  Clarence  in  the  same  capacity.  One  of  the 
ladies-in-waiting  at  the  same  Court  was  a  young  widow, 
who  for  her  own  amusement  brought  Petit  Jean  formally 
into  her  room.  "Madame,  seated  at  the  foot  of  the 
little  bed,  made  him  stand  between  her  and  her  v/omen, 
and  then  laid  it  on  his  faith  to  tell  her  the  truth  of 
whatsoever  she  should  ask.  The  poor  boy,  who  little 
guessed  her  drift,  gave  the  promise,  thinking  'Alas, 
what  have  I  done?  what  can  this  mean?'  And  while 
he  thus  wondered,  Madame  said,  smiling  upon  her 
women,  '  Tell  me,  master,  upon  the  faith  which  you  have 
pledged  me ;  tell  me  first  of  all  how  long  it  is  since  you 
saw  your  lady /ar  amours  ?'     So  when  he  heard  speech 


224  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

of   lady  par  amours,   as   one   who  had    never  thought 
thereon,  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  and  his  heart  beat 
and  his  face  grew  pale,  for  he  knew  not  how  to  speak 
a  single  word.  .  ,  .  And  they  pressed  him  so  hard  that 
he  said,  *  Madam,  I  have  none.'     '  What,  you  have  none  ! ' 
said  the  lady:  'ha!  how  happy  would  she  be  who  had 
such  a  lover!     It  may  well  be  that  you  have  none,  and 
well  I  believe  it ;  but  tell  me,  how  long  is  it  since  you 
saw  her  whom  you  most  love,  and  would  fain  have  for 
your  lady  ? ' "    The  poor  boy  could  say  nothing,  but  knelt 
there  twisting  the  end  of  his  belt  between  his  fingers 
until   the  waiting-women   pitied  him  and  advised   him 
to  answer  the  lady's  question.   "  '  Tell  without  more  ado ' 
(said  they),  '  whom  you  love  best'    '  Whom  I  love  best  ? ' 
(said  he),  'that  is  my  lady  mother,  and  then  my  sister 
Jacqueline.'    Then  said  the  lady,  '  Sir  boy,  I  intend  not 
of  your  mother  or  sister,  for  the  love  of  mother  and 
sister  and  kinsfolk  is  utterly  different  from  that  of  lady 
par  amours ;  but  I  ask  you  of  such  ladies  as  are  none 
of  your  kin.'     *  Of  them?'  (said  he),  '  by  my  faith,  lady, 
I   love   none.'    Then   said  the  lady,  'What!   you  love 
none?     Ha!  craven  gentleman,  you  say  that  you  love 
none?    Thereby  know  I  well   that  you  will  never  be 
worth  a  straw.  .  .  .  Whence  came  the  great  valiance 
and    exploits    of   Lancelot,  Gawayne,  Tristram,    Biron 
the   Courteous,   and    other  Champions   of  the   Round 
Table?  .  .  ."  The   sermon  was   unmercifully  long,  and 
it   left   the   culprit   in   helpless   tears ;  at   the  women's 
intercession,   he    was    granted    another  day's    respite. 
Boylike,  he  succeeded   in  shirking  day  after  day  until 
he  hoped  he  was  forgotten.     But  the  inexorable  lady 
caught  him  soon  after,  and  tormented  him  until  "as  he 
thought   within    himself  whom    he  should   name,  then 
(as  nature  desires  and  attracts  like  to  like),  he  bethought 
himself  of  a   little  maiden  of  the  court  who  was  ten 
years  of  age.     Then  he  said,  '  Lady,  it  is  Matheline  de 
Coucy.'     And    when    the   lady    heard    this    name,    she 
thought  well  that  this  was  but  childish  fondness  and 


WILLIAM   OF   HATFIKLI).  MJN   OF   LDWARD   II! 

AM)     I'HILIIM'A.    FROM     HIS    JvM\'.    IX     \()KK 

MIXSTKR    (Vmi) 

SUdUINi,    -rHK    DK'KSs    OK    A    Xoi.l.K    ViilTil     IN    TIIK    MIIII;!,!': 
UK    THE    14TH    CF.NTLKV 


THE   GAY   SCIENCE  225 

ignorance;  yet  she  made  more  ado  than  before,  and 
said,  '  Now  I  see  well  that  you  are  a  most  craven  squire 
to  have  chosen  Matheline  for  your  service ;  not  but  that 
she  is  a  most  comely  maiden,  and  of  good  house  and 
better  lineage  than  your  own;  but  what  good,  what 
profit,  what  honour,  what  gain,  what  advantage,  what 
comfort,  what  help,  and  what  counsel  can  come  there- 
from to  your  own  person,  to  make  you  a  valiant  man  ? 
What  are  the  advantages  which  you  can  draw  from 
Matheline,  who  is  yet  but  a  child?  Sir,  you  should 
choose  a  Lady  who  .  .  .'"  In  short,  the  lady  whom  she 
finally  commends  to  his  notice  is  her  own  self.  Little 
by  little  she  teaches  the  stripling  all  that  she  knows  of 
love;  and  later  on,  when  she  is  cloyed  with  possession 
and  weary  of  his  absence  at  the  wars,  much  that  he  had 
never  guessed  before  of  falsehood.  The  story  is  an 
admirable  commentary  on  the  well-known  lines  in 
Chaucer's  "  Book  of  the  Duchess,"  where  the  Black 
Knight  says  of  himself — 

.  .  .  since  first  I  couth 
Have  any  manner  wit  from  youth 

Or  kindely  understanding  [natural 

To  comprehend  in  any  thing 
What  love  was  in  mine  owne  wit, 

Dreadeless  I  have  ever  yet  [certainly 

Been  tributary  and  given  rent 
To  love,  wholly  with  good  intent, 
And  through  pleasaunce  become  his  thrall 
With  good  will — body,  heart,  and  all. 
All  this  I  put  in  his  servage 
As  to  my  lord,  and  did  homage, 
And  full  devoutly  prayed  him-to, 
He  should  beset  mine  hearte  so 
That  it  plesaunce  to  him  were, 
And  worship  to  my  lady  dear. 
And  this  was  long,  and  many  a  year 
Ere  that  mine  heart  was  set  aught-where, 
That  I  did  thus,  and  knew  not  why  ; 
I  trow,  it  came  me  kindely. 

If  death  comes  at  this  moment,  then  "J'aurai  passe  par 
la  terre,  n'ayant  rien  aime  que  I'amour."     But  instead 
Q 


226      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

of  death  comes  something  not  less  sudden  and  over- 
mastering. To  the  Black  Knight,  as  to  Dante,  the  Lady 
of  his  Life  is  revealed  between  two  throbs  of  the 
heart — 

It  happed  that  I  came  on  a  day 

Into  a  place  where  I  say  [saw 

Truly  the  fairest  company 

Of  ladies,  that  ever  man  with  eye 

Had  seen  together  in  one  place  .   .  . 

Sooth  to  sayen,  I  saw  one 

That  was  like  none  of  the  rout  .  .  . 

I  saw  her  dance  so  comelily, 

Carol  and  sing  so  sweetely, 

Laugh  and  play  so  womanly, 

And  look  so  debonairely, 

So  goodly  speak,  and  so  friendly, 

That  certes,  I  trow  that  nevermore 

Was  seen  so  blissful  a  tresore. 

Here  at  last  the  goddess  of  his  hopes  is  revealed  in  the 
flesh;  no  longer  the  vague  Not  Impossible  She,  but 
henceforward  She  of  the  Golden  Hair.  The  revelation 
commands  the  gratitude  of  a  lifetime.  Having  crystal- 
lized upon  herself  his  fluid  and  floating  worship,  she  is 
henceforth  conventionally  divine ;  he  demands  no  more 
than  to  be  allowed  to  gaze  on  her,  and  in  gazing  he 
swoons. 

As  yet,  then,  she  is  his  idol,  his  goddess,  on  an 
unapproachable  pedestal.  She  may  be  pretty  patently 
the  work  of  his  own  hands — he  has  gone  about  dream- 
ing of  love  until  his  dreams  have  taken  sufficient 
consistency  to  be  visible  and  tangible— but  as  yet  his 
worship  must  be  as  far-off"  as  Pygmalion's,  and  he 
thirsts  in  vain  for  a  word  or  a  look.  Then  comes  the 
second  clause  of  Francesca's  creed — Amor,  che  a  nullo 
amato  amar  pcrdoiia  :  true  love  must  needs  beget  love 
in  return.  The  statue  warms  to  life ;  the  goddess  steps 
down  from  her  pedestal ;  the  lover  forgets  now  that  he 
had  meant  to  subsist  for  life  on  half  a  dozen  kind  looks 
and  kind  words ;  and  at  this  point  the  matter  would  end 
nowadays — or  at  least  would  have  ended  a  generation 


THE   GAY   SCIENCE  227 

ago — in  mere  prosaic  marriage.  But  here,  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  it  is  fifty  to  one  that  the  fortunes  of  the  pair  are 
not  exactly  suitable ;  or  he,  or  she,  or  both  may  be 
married  already.  Then  comes  the  final  clause :  Amor 
condusse  noi  ad  una  morte.  Seldom  indeed  could  the 
course  of  true  love  run  smooth  in  an  age  of  business- 
marriages  ;  and  the  poet  found  his  grandest  material  in 
the  wreckage  of  tender  passions  and  high  hopes  upon 
that  iron-bound  shore. 

The  large  majority  of  medieval  romances,  as  has 
long  ago  been  noted,  celebrate  illicit  love.  Therefore 
the  first  commandment  of  the  code  is  secrecy,  absolute 
secrecy;  and  in  the  songs  of  the  Troubadors  and  Minne- 
singers, a  personage  almost  as  prominent  as  the  two 
lovers  themselves,  is  the  "envious,"  the  "spier" — the 
person  from  whom  it  is  impossible  to  escape  for  more 
than  a  minute  at  a  time,  amid  the  cheek-by-jowl  of  castle 
intercourse — a  disappointed  rival  perhaps,  or  a  mere 
malicious  busybody,  but,  in  any  case,  a  perpetual 
skeleton  at  the  feast.  "  Troilus  and  Criseyde,"  for 
instance,  is  full  of  such  allusions,  and  perhaps  no  poem 
exemplifies  more  clearly  the  common  divorce  between 
romantic  love  and  marriage  in  medieval  literature.  It 
is  a  comparatively  small  thing  that  the  first  three  books 
of  the  poem  should  contain  no  hint  of  matrimony, 
though  Criseyde  is  a  widow,  and  of  noble  blood.  It 
would,  after  all,  have  been  less  of  a  rmsallimice  than 
John  of  Gaunt's  marriage  ;  but  of  course  it  was  perfectly 
natural  for  Chaucer  to  take  the  line  of  least  poetical 
resistance,  and  make  Troilus  enjoy  her  love  in  secret, 
without  thought  of  consecration  by  the  rites  of  the 
Church.  So  far,  the  poem  runs  parallel  with  Goethe's 
"  Faust."  But  when  we  come  to  the  last  two  books,  the 
behaviour  of  the  pair  is  absolutely  inexplicable  to  any 
one  who  has  not  realized  the  usual  conventions  of 
medieval  romance.  The  Trojan  prince  Antenor  is  taken 
prisoner  by  the  Greeks,  who  offer  to  exchange  him 
against    Criseyde  —  a   fighting    man    against    a    mere 


228      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

woman.     Hector  does  indeed   protest  in  open  Parlia- 
ment— 

But  on  my  part  ye  may  eft-soon  them  tell 
We  usen  here  no  women  for  to  sell. 

But  the  political  utility  of  the  exchange  is  so  obvious 
that  Parliament  determines  to  send  the  unwilling 
Criseyde  away.  What,  it  may  be  asked,  is  Troilus 
doing  all  this  time?  As  Priam's  son,  he  would  have 
had  a  voice  in  the  council  second  only  to  Hector's,  and 
he  "well-nigh  died"  to  hear  the  proposition.  Yet  all 
through  this  critical  discussion  he  kept  silence,  "  lest 
men  should  his  affection  espy ! "  The  separation,  he 
knows,  will  kill  him ;  but  among  all  the  measures  he 
debates  with  Criseyde  or  Pandarus — even  among  the 
desperate  acts  which  he  threatens  to  commit — nothing 
so  desperate  as  plain  marriage  seems  to  occur  to  any  of 
the  three.  The  first  thought  of  Troilus  is  "how  to 
save  her  honour,"  but  only  in  the  technical  sense  of 
medieval  chivalry,  by  feigning  indifference  to  her.  He 
sheds  floods  of  tears  ;  he  tells  Fortune  that  if  only  he 
may  keep  his  lady,  he  is  reckless  of  all  else  in  the 
world ;  but,  when  for  a  moment  he  thinks  of  begging 
Criseyde's  freedom  from  the  King  his  father,  it  is  only 
to  thrust  the  thought  aside  at  once.  The  step  would  be 
not  only  useless,  but  necessarily  involve  "  slander  to 
her  name."  *  And  all  this  was  written  for  readers  who 
knew  very  well  that  the  parties  had  only  to  swear, 
first  that  they  had  plighted  troth  before  witnesses,  and 
secondly,  that  they  had  lived  together  as  man  and  wife, 
in  order  to  prove  an  indissoluble  marriage  contract. 
Nor  can  we  ascribe  this  to  any  failure  in  Chaucer's  art. 
In  the  delineation  of  feelings,  their  natural  development 
and  their  finer  shades,  he  is  second  to  no  medieval  poet, 
and  these  qualities  come  out  especially  in  the  "Troilus." 
But,  while  he  boldly  changed  so  much  in  Boccaccio's 
conception  of  the  poem,   he  saw  no  reason  to  change 

*  Bk.  IV.,  11.  152,  158,  367,  519,  554,  564. 


THE   GAY   SCIENCE  229 

this  particular  point,  for  it  was  thoroughly  in  accord 
with  those  conventions  of  his  time  for  which  he  kept 
some  respect  even  through  his  frequent  irony. 

To  show  clearly  how  the  fault  here  is  not  in  the 
poet  but  in  the  false  point  d'honneur  of  the  chivalric 
love-code,  let  us  compare  it  with  a  romance  in  real  life 
from  the  "  Paston  Letters."  Sir  John  Paston's  steward, 
Richard  Calle,  fell  in  love  with  his  master's  sister 
Margery.  The  Pastons,  who  not  only  were  great 
gentlefolk  in  a  small  way,  but  were  struggling  hard 
also  to  become  great  gentlefolk  in  a  big  way,  took  up 
the  natural  position  that  "  he  should  never  have  my 
good  will  for  to  make  my  sister  sell  candle  and  mustard 
in  Framlingham."  But  the  pair  had  already  plighted 
their  mutual  troth ;  and,  therefore,  though  not  yet 
absolutely  married,  they  were  so  far  engaged  that 
neither  could  marry  any  one  else  without  a  Papal 
dispensation.  Calle  urged  Margery  to  acknowledge 
this  openly  to  her  family  :  "  I  suppose,  an  ye  tell  them 
sadl}^  the  truth,  they  would  not  damn  their  souls  for 
us."  She  at  last  confessed,  and  the  matter  came  up 
before  the  Bishop  of  Norwich  for  judgment.  In  spite 
of  all  the  bullying  of  the  family,  and  the  flagrant 
partiality  of  the  Bishop,  the  girl's  mother  has  to  write 
and  tell  Sir  John  how  "Your  sister  .  .  .  rehearsed 
what  she  had  said  [when  she  plighted  her  troth  to 
Calle],  and  said,  if  those  words  made  it  not  sure,  she 
said  boldly  that  she  would  make  that  surer  ere  that 
she  went  thence,  for  she  said  she  thought  in  her  con- 
science she  was  bound,  whatsoever  the  words  weren. 
These  lewd  words  grieved  me  and  her  grandam  as 
much  as  all  the  remnant."  The  Bishop  still  delayed 
judgment  on  the  chance  of  finding  "  other  things  against 
[Calle]  that  might  cause  the  letting  thereof;"  and 
meanwhile  the  mother  turned  Margery  out  into  the 
street;  so  that  the  Bishop  himself  had  to  find  her  a 
decent  lodging  while  he  kept  her  waiting  for  his 
decision.      But    to   annul    this   plain    contract    needed 


230  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

grosser  methods  of  injustice  than  the  Pastons  had 
influence  to  compass,  and  Calle  not  only  got  his  wife 
at  last,  but  was  taken  back  into  the  family  service,* 
Troilus  and  Criseyde,  having  political  forces  arrayed 
against  them,  might  indeed  have  failed  tragically  of 
their  marriage  in  the  end ;  but  there  was  at  least  no 
reason  why  they  should  not  fight  for  it  as  stoutly  as 
the  prosaic  Norfolk  bailiff  did — if  only  the  idea  had  ever 
entered  into  one  or  other  of  their  heads ! 

Another  tacit  assumption  of  the  chivalric  love-code 
comes  out  clearly  in  the  Knight's  Tale,  and  even  goes 
some  way  to  explain  the  Franklin's  ;  though  this  latter 
evidently  recounts  an  old  Breton  lay  in  which  the 
perspective  is  as  frankly  fantastic  as  the  landscape  of 
a  miniature.  The  honest  commentator  Benvenuto  da 
Imola  is  at  great  pains  to  assure  us  that  Dante's  amor, 
che  a  niillo  amato  amar  perdona  was  not  an  exhaustive 
statement  of  actual  fact ;  and  that  even  the  kindest 
ladies  sometimes  remained  obdurate  to  the  prayers  of 
the  most  meritorious  suitors.  What  is  to  happen, 
then?  The  hero  may,  of  course,  sometimes  die;  but 
not  always ;  that  would  be  too  monotonous.  The 
solution  here,  as  in  so  many  other  cases,  lies  in  a  poetic 
paraphrase  of  too  prosaic  facts.  The  Due  de  Berri, 
who  was  a  great  connoisseur  and  a  man  of  the  most 
refined  tastes,  bought  at  an  immense  sacrifice  of  money 
the  most  delicate  little  countess  in  the  market :  she, 
of  course,  had  no  choice  at  all  in  the  matter.  At  an 
equal  sacrifice  of  blood,  first  Arcite  and  then  Palamon 
won  the  equally  passive  Emel3^e,  who,  when  Theseus 
had  set  her  up  as  a  prize  to  the  better  fighter,  could 
only  pray  that  she  might  either  avoid  them  both,  or  at 
least  fall  to  him  who  loved  her  best  in  his  inmost  heart. 
At  a  cost  of  equal  suffering,  though  in  a  diff'erent  way, 
Aurelius  won  the  unwilling  Dorigen — for  his  subse- 
quent generosity  is  beside  the  present  purpose.  The 
reader's    sympathy,    in    medieval    romance,    is    nearly 

*  "  Paston  Letters  "'  (ed.  Gairdncr,  1900),  ii.,  364  ;  iv.,  ccxc. 


THE   GAY  SCIENCE  231 

always  enlisted  for  the  pursuing  man.  If  only  he  can 
show  sufficient  valour,  or  suffer  long  enough,  he  must 
have  the  prize,  and  the  lady  is  sure  to  shake  down 
comfortably  enough  sooner  or  later.*  The  idea  is  not, 
of  course,  peculiar  to  medieval  poetry,  but  the  frequency 
with  which  it  there  occurs  supplies  another  answer  to 
the  main  question  of  this  chapter.  Why,  if  medieval 
marriages  were  really  so  business-like,  is  medieval 
love-poetry  so  transcendental  ?  It  is  not,  in  fact,  by  any 
means  so  transcendental  as  it  seems  on  the  surface; 
neither  Palamon  nor  Arcite,  at  the  bottom  of  all  his 
extravagant  protestations  of  humble  worship,  feels  the 
least  scruple  in  making  Emelye  the  prize  of  a  series  of 
swashing  blows  at  best,  and  possibly  of  a  single  lucky 
thrust.  The  chance  of  Shakespeare's  caskets  does  at 
least  give  Portia  to  the  man  whom  her  heart  had  already 
chosen;  but  the  similar  chances  and  counter-chances 
of  the  Knight's  Tale  simply  play  shuttlecock  with 
a  helpless  and  unwilling  girl.  Under  the  spell  of 
Chaucer's  art,  we  know  quite  well  that  Palamon  and 
Emelye  lived  very  happily  ever  afterwards  ;  but  the 
Knight's  Tale  gives  us  no  reason  to  doubt  the  over- 
whelming evidence  that,  while  heroes  in  poetry  con- 
quered their  wives  with  their  right  arm,  plain  men  in 
prose  openly  bargained  for  them. 

*  Few  tales  illustrate  more  clearly  the  woman's  duty  of  accepting  any 
knight  who  made  himself  sufficiently  miserable  about  her,  than  that  of 
Boccaccio,  which  Dryden  has  so  finely  versified  under  the  name  of 
Theodore  and  Honoria;  Equally  significant  is  one  of  the  "  Gesta 
Romanorum"  (ed.  Swan.,  No.  XXVIII.). 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   GREAT   WAR 

Ce  voyons  bien,  qu'au  temps  present 

La  guerre  si  commune  dprend, 

Qu'a  peine  y  a  nul  labourer 

Lequel  a  son  metier  se  prend  : 

Le  pretre  laist  le  sacrement,  [laisse 

Et  le  vilain  le  charruer, 

Tous  vont  aux  armes  travailler. 

Si  Dieu  ne  pense  h.  I'amender, 

L'on  peut  douter  prochainement 

Que  tout  le  mond  doit  reverser." 

GOWER,  "  Mirour,"  24097 

OF  all  the  causes  that  tended  in  Chaucer's  time  to 
modify  the  old  ideals  of  knighthood,  none 
perhaps  was  more  potent  than  the  Hundred  Years' 
War.  Unjust  as  it  was  on  both  sides — for  the  cause  of 
Philippe  de  Valois  cannot  be  separated  from  certain 
inexcusable  manoeuvres  of  his  predecessors  on  the 
French  throne — it  was  the  first  thoroughly  national  war 
on  so  large  a  scale  since  the  institution  of  chivalry.  No 
longer  merely  feudal  levies,  but  a  whole  people  on 
either  side  is  gradually  involved  in  this  struggle ;  and 
its  military  lessons  anticipate,  to  a  certain  extent,  those 
of  the  French  Revolutionary  Wars.  Even  in  Froissart's 
narrative,  the  greatest  heroes  of  Crecy  are  the  English 
archers;  and  the  Welsh  knifcmen  by  their  side  play  a 
part  undreamed  of  in  earlier  feudal  warfare,  "  When 
the  Genoese  were  assembled  together  and  began  to 
approach,  they  made  a  great  cry  to  abash  the  English- 
men, but  they  stood  still  and  stirred  not  for  all 
that ;  then   the   Genoese  again   the  second   time  made 


THE   GREAT   WAR  233 

another  fell  cry,  and  stept  forward  a  little,  and  the 
Englishmen  removed  not  one  foot ;  thirdly,  again  they 
cried,  and  went  forth  till  they  came  within  shot;  then 
they  shot  fiercely  with  their  cross-bows.  Then  the 
English  archers  stept  forth  one  pace  and  let  fly  their 
arrows  so  wholly  together  and  so  thick,  that  it  seemed 
snow.  .  .  .  And  ever  still  the  Englishmen  shot  whereas 
they  saw  thickest  press  ;  the  sharp  arrows  ran  into  the 
men  of  arms  and  into  their  horses,  and  many  fell,  horse 
and  men.  .  ,  .  And  also  among  the  Englishmen  there 
were  certain  rascals  that  went  afoot  with  great  knives, 
and  they  went  in  among  the  men  of  arms,  and  slew  and 
murdered  many  as  they  lay  on  the  ground,  both  earls, 
barons,  knights  and  squires,  whereof  the  king  of  England 
was  after  displeased,  for  he  had  rather  they  had  been 
taken  prisoners." 

Those  "certain  rascals"  did  not  only  kill  certain 
knights,  they  killed  also  the  old  idea  of  Knighthood. 
From  that  time  forw^ard  the  art  of  war,  which  had  so 
long  been  practised  under  the  frequent  restraint  of 
certain  aristocratic  conventions,  took  a  great  leap  in  the 
direction  of  modern  business  methods.  The  people 
were  concerned  now;  and  they  had  grown,  as  they  are 
apt  to  grow,  inconveniently  in  earnest.  There  is  a 
peculiarly  living  interest  for  modern  England  in  the 
story  of  that  army  which  at  Crecy  won  the  first  of  a 
series  of  victories  astounding  to  all  Christendom.  Only 
a  few  months  after  Chaucer's  unlucky  campaign  in 
France,  Petrarch  had  travelled  across  to  Paris,  and 
recorded  his  impressions  in  a  letter.  "  The  English  .  .  . 
have  overthrown  the  ancient  glories  of  France  by 
victories  so  numerous  and  unexpected  that  this  people, 
which  formerly  was  inferior  to  the  miserable  Scots,  has 
now  (not  to  speak  of  that  lamentable  and  undeserved 
fall  of  a  great  king  which  I  cannot  recall  without  a  sigh) 
so  wasted  with  fire  and  sword  the  whole  kingdom  of 
France  that  I,  when  I  last  crossed  the  country  on 
business,  could  scarce  believe  it  to  be  the  same  land 


234  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

which  I  had  seen  before."*  The  events  which  so 
startled  Petrarch  were  indeed  immediately  attributable 
to  the  business  qualities  and  the  ambitions  of  two 
English  kings ;  but  their  ultimate  cause  lay  far  deeper. 
During  all  the  first  stages  of  the  war,  in  which  the 
English  superiority  was  most  marked,  the  conflict  was 
practically  between  the  French  feudal  forces  and  the 
English  national  levies.  While  French  kings  ignored 
the  duty  of  every  man  to  serve  in  defence  of  his  own 
home,  or  remembered  it  only  as  an  excuse  for  extorting 
money  instead  of  personal  service,  Edward  III.  brought 
the  vast  latent  forces  of  his  whole  kingdom,  and  (what 
was  perhaps  even  more  important)  its  full  business 
energies,  to  bear  against  a  chivalry  which  at  its  best 
had  been  unpractical  in  its  exclusiveness,  and  was  now 
already  decaying.  "  Edward  I.  and  III.  .  .  .  (and  this 
makes  their  reigns  a  decisive  epoch  in  the  history  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  as  well  as  in  that  of  England)  were 
the  real  creators  of  modern  infantry.  We  must  not, 
however,  ascribe  the  honour  of  this  creation  only  to  the 
military  genius  of  the  two  English  Kings ;  they  were 
driven  to  it  by  necessity,  the  mother  of  invention.  The 
device  which  they  used  is  essentially  the  same  which 
has  been  employed  in  every  age  by  countries  of  small 
extent  and  therefore  of  scanty  population,  viz.  com- 
pulsory military  service.  Although  the  name  of  cojt- 
scription  is  obviously  modern,  the  thing  itself  is  of 
ancient  use  among  the  very  people  who  know  least  of 
it  nowadays  ;  and  it  may  be  proved  conclusivel}^  that 
Edward  III.,  especially,  practised  it  on  a  great  scale. 
The  documentary  evidence  for  this  fact  is  so  plentiful 
that  to  draw  up  the  briefest  summary  of  it  would  be  to 
write  a  whole  chapter — neither  the  least  interesting  nor 
the  least  novel,  be  it  said — of  English  history  ;  and  that 
is  no  part  of  my  plan  here."  So  wrote  Simeon  Luce, 
the   greatest   French   specialist   on    the    period,  thirty 

♦  Quoted  by  S.  Luce,  "  P.ertrand  du  Guesclin,"  18S2,  p.  124. 


THE   GREAT   WAR  235 

years  ago;  but  the  point  which  he  here  makes  so 
clearly  has  hardly  yet  been  fully  grasped  by  English 
writers.*  It  may  therefore  be  worth  while  to  bring 
forward  here  some  specimens  of  the  mass  of  evidence 
to  which  Luce  alludes.  Compulsory  service  is,  of 
course,  prehistoric  and  universal ;  few  nations  could 
have  survived  in  the  past  unless  all  their  citizens  had 
been  ready  to  fight  for  them  in  case  of  need ;  and  the 
decadence  of  imperial  Rome  began  with  the  time  when 
her  populace  demanded  to  be  fed  at  the  public  expense, 
and  defended  by  hired  troops.  In  principle,  therefore, 
even  14th-century  France  recognized  the  liability  of 
every  citizen  to  serve,  while  England  had  not  only  the 
principle  but  the  practice.  Her  old  Fyrd,  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  militia  system,  was  reorganized  by  Henry  II. 
and  again  by  Edward  I.  By  the  latter's  "  Statute  of 
Winchester"  every  able-bodied  man  was  bound  not 
only  to  possess  arms  on  a  scale  proportionate  to  his 
wealth,  but  also  to  learn  their  use.  A  fresh  impulse 
was  given  to  this  military  training  by  Edward  I.,  who 
learned  from  his  Welsh  enemies  that  the  longbow, 
already  a  well-known  weapon  among  his  own  subjects, 
was  far  superior  in  battle  to  the  crossbow.  Edward, 
therefore,  gradually  set  about  training  a  large  force  of 
English  archers.  Falkirk  (1298)  was  the  first  important 
battle  in  which  the  archery  was  used  in  scientific  com- 
bination with  cavalry;  Bannockburn  (13 14)  was  the  last 
in  which  the  English  repeated  the  old  blunder  of  relying 
on  mounted  knights  and  men-at-arms,  and  allowing  the 
infantry  to  act  as  a  more  or  less  disordered  mass. 
While  Philippe  de  Valois  was  raising  money  by  the 
suicidal  expedients  of  taxing  bowstrings  and  ordaining 
general  levies  from  which  every  one  was  expected  to 
redeem  himself  b}^  a  money  fine,  Edward  III.  was  giving 
the  strictest  orders  that  archery  should  take  precedence 

*  The  essentially  compulsory  foundation  of  Edward  III.'s  armies,  for 
at  least  a  great  part  of  his  reign,  seems  to  have  been  overlooked  even  by 
Prof.  Oman  in  his  valuable  "  Art  of  War  in  the  Middle  Ages." 


236  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

of  all  other  sports  in  England,  and  that  the  country 
should  furnish  him  all  the  men  he  needed  for  his  wars.* 
Of  all  the  documents  to  which  Luce  refers  (and  which 
are  even  more  numerous  than  he  could  have  guessed 
thirty  years  ago)  let  us  here  glance  at  two  or  three 
which  bring  the  whole  system  visibly  before  us.  In 
this  matter,  as  in  several  others,  the  clearest  evidence  is 
to  be  found  among  Mr.  Hudson's  invaluable  gleanings 
from  the  Norwich  archives.!  He  has  printed  and 
analyzed  a  number  of  documents  which  show  the  work- 
ing of  the  militia  system  in  the  city  between  1355  and 
1370 — that  is,  at  a  time  when  it  is  generally  asserted 
that  we  were  conducting  the  French  wars  on  the 
voluntary  system.  In  these  documents  we  find  that  the 
Statute  of  Winchester  was  being  worked  quite  as 
strictly  as  we  are  entitled  to  expect  of  any  medieval 
statute,  and  a  great  deal  more  strictly  than  the  average. 
The  city  did  in  fact  provide,  and  periodically  review,  an 
armed  force  equal  in  numbers  to  rather  more  than  one- 
tenth  of  its  total  population— a  somewhat  larger  pro- 
portion, that  is,  than  would  be  furnished  by  the  modern 
system  of  conscription  on  the  Continent.  Many  of  these 
men,  of  course,  turned  out  with  no  more  than  the 
minimum  club  and  knife  ;  the  next  step  was  to  add  a 
sword  or  an  axe  to  these  primitive  weapons,  and  so  on 
through  the  archers  to  the  numerous  "  half-armed  men," 
who  had  in  addition  to  their  offensive  weapons  a  plated 
doublet  with  visor  and  iron  gauntlets,  and  finally  the 
"fully-armed,"  who  had  in  addition  a  shirt  of  mail  under 
the  doublet,  a  neck-piece  and  arm-plates,  and  whose 
total  equipment  must  have  cost  some  ^30  or  ^40  of 
modern  money.  Mr.  Hudson  also  notes  that  "it  is 
plain  that  the  Norwich  archers  were  many  of  them  men 
of  good  standing." 

*  Froissart,  cd.  Luce,  i.,  401.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Edward 
also  proclaimed  the  duty  of  teaching  French  for  military  purposes,  as 
noted  in  Chap.  I.  of  this  book. 

t  "  Norwich  Militia  in  the  14th  Century  "  (Norfolk  and  Norwich  Arch. 
.Soc.),  vol.  xiv.,  p.  263. 


THE   GREAT   WAR  237 

Moreover,  this  small  amount  of  compulsion  was 
found  in  medieval  England,  as  in  modern  Switzerland, 
to  stimulate  rather  than  to  repress  the  volunteer 
energies  of  the  nation.  Not  only  did  shooting  become 
the  favourite  national  sport,  but  many  of  whom  we 
might  least  have  expected  such  self-sacrifice  came 
forward  gladly  to  fight  side  by  side  with  their  fellow- 
citizens  for  hearth  and  home.  In  1346,  when  the  Scots 
invaded  England  under  the  misapprehension  that  none 
remained  to  defend  the  country  but  "ploughmen  and 
shepherds  and  feeble  or  broken-down  chaplains,"  they 
found  among  the  powerful  militia  force  which  met 
them  many  parsons  who  were  neither  feeble  nor 
infirm.  Crowds  of  priests  were  among  those  who 
trooped  out  from  Beverley  and  York,  and  other 
northern  towns,  to  a  victory  of  which  Englishmen 
have  more  real  reason  to  be  proud  than  of  any  other 
in  our  early  history.  Marching  with  sword  and  quiver 
on  their  thigh  and  the  good  six-foot  bow  under  their 
arm,  they  took  off  shoes  and  stockings  at  the  town 
gates  and  started  barefoot,  with  chants  and  litanies, 
upon  that  righteous  campaign.  In  1360,  again,  when 
there  was  a  scare  of  invasion  and  all  men  from  sixteen 
to  sixty  were  called  out,  then  "bishops,  abbots,  and 
priors,  rectors,  vicars,  and  chaplains  were  as  ready  as 
the  abbots  [sic']  had  been,  some  to  be  men-at-arms  and 
some  to  be  archers  .  .  .  and  the  beneficed  clergy  who 
could  not  serve  in  person  hired  substitutes."  In  1383 
priests  and  monks  were  fighting  even  among  the  so- 
called  crusaders  whom  Bishop  Despenser  led  against 
the  French  in  Flanders.* 

To  have  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  nation  thus 
trained  for  home  defence  was  in  itself  a  most  important 
militar}^  asset,  for  it  freed  the  hands  of  the  army  which 
was  on  foreign  service,  and  enabled  it  to  act  without 
misgivings  as  to  what  might  be  happening  at  home. 
This  was  in  fact  the  militia  which,  while  Edward  III. 
*  Knighton  (R.  S.),  ii.,  42,  44,  109. 


CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

was  with  his  great  army  at  Crecy  and  Calais,  inflicted 
on  the  Scottish  invaders  at  Neville's  Cross  one  of  the 
most  crushing  defeats  in  their  history,  and  added  one 
more  crowned  head  to  the  collection  of  noble  prisoners 
in  London.*  But,  more  than  this,  it  formed  a  recruiting- 
field  which  alone  enabled  English  armies,  far  from  their 
base,  to  hold  their  own  against  the  forces  of  a  country 
which  at  that  time  had  an  enormous  numerical  superiority 
in  population.  It  had  always  been  doubtful  how  far  the 
militia  was  bound  to  serve  abroad.  Edward  III.  himself 
had  twice  been  forced  to  grant  immunity  by  statute 
(first  and  twenty-fifth  years),  but  with  the  all-important 
saving  clause  "except  under  great  urgency."  Such 
great  urgency  was  in  fact  constantly  pleaded,  and  the 
cities  did  not  care  to  contest  the  point.  Several  calls 
were  made  on  Norwich  for  120  men  at  a  time,  a  pro- 
portion which,  in  figures  of  modern  town  population, 
would  be  roughly  equivalent  to  1200  from  North- 
ampton, 8000  from  Birmingham,  and  10,000  from 
Glasgow.  In  the  year  before  Crecy  the  less  populous 
town  of  Lynn  was  assessed  at  100  men  "of  the  strongest 
and  most  vigorous  of  the  said  town,  each  armed  with 
breastplate,  helmet,  and  gauntlets  .  .  .  for  the  defence 
and  rescue  of  Our  duchy  of  Aquitaine."  The  drain  on 
London  at  the  same  time  was  enormous,  as  I  have 
already  had  occasion  to  note  in  Chapter  X.  The  briefest 
summary  of  the  evidence  contained  in  Dr.  Sharpe's 
Letter-Books  will  suffice  here.  On  the  outbreak  of  war 
in  1337,  in  addition  to  a  considerable  tribute  of  ships, 
the  city  was  called  upon  for  a  contingent  of  500  men — 
which  would  be  equivalent  to  the  enormous  tribute  of 
50,000  soldiers  from  modern  London.  Presently  "the 
king  .  .  .  took  occasion  to  find  fault  with  the  city's 
dilatoriness  in  carrying  out  his  orders,  and  complained 

*  The  Scots  themselves  had  found  out  long  before  this  who  were  their 
most  formidable  enemies.  Sir  James  Douglas  had  been  accustomed  to 
cut  off  the  right  hand  or  put  out  the  right  eye  of  any  archer  whom  he 
could  catch. 


THE   GREAT   WAR  239 

of  the  want  of  physique  in  the  men  that  were  being 
supplied.  At  the  request  of  John  de  Pulteneye,  who 
was  then  occupying  the  Mayoral  chair  for  the  fourth 
time,  he  consented  to  accept  200  able-bodied  archers 
at  once,  and  to  postpone  the  selection  of  the  remainder 
of  the  force.  At  the  same  time  he  issued  letters  patent 
declaring  that  the  aid  furnished  by  the  city  should  not 
become  a  precedent.  The  names  of  the  200  archers 
that  went  to  Gascony  are  set  out  in  the  Letter- 
Book.  .  .  ."  But  Royal  promises  are  unstable.  Another 
contingent  of  100  was  sent  soon  after.  In  1338  London 
was  ordered  to  fit  out  four  ships  with  300  men  to  join 
the  home  defence  fleet  at  Winchelsea;  the  citizens  pro- 
tested so  strongly  that  this  was  reduced  by  a  half  In 
1340  the  King  seized  all  ships  of  forty  tons'  burden 
and  raised  300  more  soldiers  from  London,  who  took 
part  in  the  glorious  victory  of  Sluys.  In  1342  another 
levy;  in  1344,  400  archers  again;  in  1346  "the  sheriffs 
of  London  were  called  upon  to  make  proclamation  for 
all  persons  between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and  sixty  to 
take  up  arms  and  to  be  at  Portsmouth  by  March  26th" 
— a  command  which,  however  interpreted  with  the 
usual  elasticity,  must  yet  have  produced  several 
hundred  recruits  for  the  army  which  fought  at  Crecy. 
Next  year  two  ships  were  demanded  with  180  armed 
men,  and  two  more  again  later  in  the  year.  In  1350 
two  London  ships  with  170  armed  men  were  raised 
for  the  battle  of  Les  Espagnols  sur  Mer.  In  1355, 
again,  520  soldiers  were  demanded  from  the  city. 

While  this  was  going  on  in  the  towns,  the  Berkeley 
papers  give  us  similar  evidence  of  conscription  in  the 
counties,  though  the  documents  are  not  here  con- 
tinuous. In  1332  the  Sheriff"  of  Gloucester  was  bidden 
to  raise  100  men  for  service  in  Ireland;  next  year  500 
for  Scotland.  Three  years  later  the  country  was 
obliged  to  send  2500  to  Scotland,  besides  the  Gloucester 
city  and  Bristol  contingents.  Then  comes  the  French 
war.     In  1337  and  1338  Lord  Berkeley  spends  most  of 


240      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

his  time  mustering  and  arraying  soldiers  for  France. 
In  the  latter  year,  and  again  in  1339,  Edward  com- 
missions him  to  array  and  arm  all  the  able  men  in  the 
country,  as  others  were  doing  throughout  the  kingdom ; 
563  were  thus  arrayed  in  the  shire,  and  Smyth  very 
plausibly  conjectures  that  the  small  number  is  due  to 
Lord  Berkeley's  secret  favour  for  his  own  county. 
In  1345,  when  Edward  made  the  great  effort  which 
culminated  at  Crecy,  the  county  and  the  town  of  Bristol 
had  to  raise  and  arm  622  men  "to  be  conducted  whither 
Lord  Berkeley  should  direct."  And  so  on  until  1347, 
when  there  is  a  significant  addition  of  plenary  powers 
to  punish  all  refractory  and  rebellious  persons,  a  riot 
having  apparently  broken  out  on  account  of  these 
levies.*  From  this  time  forward  the  scattered  notices 
never  refer  to  levies  for  service  abroad ;  but  they  are 
still  frequent  for  home  defence,  and  Smyth  proudly 
records  in  three  folio  volumes  the  numbers  of  trained 
and  disciplined  men  in  his  own  time  (James  I.),  with 
their  "names  and  several  statures,"  in  the  single 
hundred  of  Berkeley.  The  national  militia  always  re- 
mained the  most  valuable  recruiting  ground,  and  kept 
up  that  love  of  archery  for  which  the  English  were 
famous  down  to  Elizabeth's  days  and  beyond ;  yet, 
for  purely  foreign  wars,  Edward's  frequent  drains 
broke  the  national  patience  before  the  end  of  his 
reign.  The  evidence  from  London  points  most  plainly 
in  this  direction.  In  1369  at  last  we  find  the  tell-tale 
notice :  "  It  was  frequently  easier  for  the  City  to 
furnish  the  King  with  money  than  with  men.  Hence 
we  find  it  recorded  that  at  the  end  of  August  of  this 
year  the  citizens  had  agreed  to  raise  a  sum  of  ;^2ooo 

*  Compare  the  interesting  case  in  Gross,  "  Office  of  Coroner,"  p.  74. 
Two  conscripts,  on  their  way  to  join  the  army,  chanced  to  meet  at  Cold 
Ashby  the  constable  who  was  responsible  for  their  being  selected ;  they 
ran  him  through  with  a  lance  and  then  took  sanctuary.  It  is  significant 
that  they  were  not  hanged,  but  carried  off  to  the  army  ;  the  King  needed 
every  stout  arm  he  could  muster. 


THE   GREAT   WAR  241 

tor  the  king  in  lieu  of  furnishing  him  with  a  military 
contingent."  Already  by  this  time  the  tide  had  turned 
against  us  in  France;  not  that  the  few  English  troops 
failed  to  keep  up  their  superiority  in  the  field,  but  Du 
Guesclin  played  a  waiting  game  and  wore  us  steadily 
out.  Castle  after  castle  was  surprised ;  isolated  detach- 
ments were  crushed  one  by  one;  reinforcements  were 
difficult  to  raise ;  and  before  Edward's  death  three  sea- 
ports alone  were  left  of  all  his  French  conquests.  He  had 
at  one  time  wielded  an  army  almost  like  Napoleon's — 
a  mass  of  professional  soldiers  raised  from  a  nation  in 
arms.  But,  like  Napoleon,  he  had  used  it  recklessly. 
Such  material  could  not  be  supplied  ad  infinitum,  and 
our  victories  began  again  only  after  a  period  of  com- 
parative rest,  when  France  was  crippled  by  the  madness 
of  her  King  and  divided  by  internecine  feuds. 

Edward's  conscription,  it  will  be  seen,  was  some- 
what old-fashioned  compared  with  that  of  modern  France 
and  Germany.  Men  were  enrolled  for  a  campaign  partly 
by  bargain,  partly  by  force;  and,  once  enrolled,  the 
wars  generally  made  them  into  professional  soldiers 
for  life.  No  doubt  Shakespeare's  caricature  in  the 
second  part  of  King  Henry  IV.  may  help  us  a  little  here, 
so  long  as  we  make  due  allowance  for  his  comic  purpose 
and  the  rustiness  of  the  institution  in  his  time.  For 
already  in  Chaucer's  lifetime  there  was  a  great  change 
in  our  system  of  over-sea  service.  As  the  sources  of 
conscription  began  to  dry  up,  the  King  fell  back  more 
and  more  upon  the  expedient  of  hiring  troops :  he 
would  get  some  great  captain  to  contract  himself  by 
indenture  to  bring  so  many  armed  men  at  a  given  time, 
and  the  contractor  in  his  turn  entered  into  a  number 
of  sub-contracts  with  minor  leaders  to  contribute  to  his 
contingent.  Under  this  system  a  very  large  proportion 
of  aliens  came  into  our  armies ;  but  even  then  we  kept 
the  same  organization  and  principles  as  in  those  earlier 
hosts  which  were  really  contingents  of  English  militia. 

An  army  thus  drawn  from  a  people  accustomed  to 


242  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

some  real  measure  of  self-government  inevitably  broke 
through  many  feudal  traditions ;  and  from  a  very  early 
stage  in  the  war  we  find  important  commands  given  to 
knights  and  squires  who  had  fought  their  way  up  from 
the  ranks.  The  most  renowned  of  all  these  English 
soldiers  of  fortune,  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  married  the 
sister  of  Clarence's  Violante,  with  a  dowry  of  a  million 
florins;  yet  he  is  recorded  to  have  begun  as  a  common 
archer.  He  was  probably  a  younger  son  of  a  good 
Essex  house;  but  this  again  simply  emphasizes  the 
democratic  and  business-like  organization  of  the  English 
army  compared  with  its  rivals.  Du  Guesclin,  though 
he  was  the  eldest  son  of  one  of  the  smaller  French 
nobles,  found  his  promotion  terribly  retarded  by  his 
lack  of  birth  and  influence.  He  was  probably  the  most 
distinguished  leader  in  France  before  he  even  received 
the  honour  of  knighthood.  At  the  date  of  the  battle 
of  Cocherel  he  had  fought  with  success  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  and  was  by  far  the  most  distinguished 
captain  present ;  yet  he  owed  the  command  on  that  day 
only  to  the  rare  good  fortune  that  the  greatest  noble 
present  recognized  his  own  comparative  incapacity,  and 
that  the  rest  agreed  in  offering  to  fight  under  a  man 
of  less  social  distinction  but  incomparably  greater 
experience  than  any  of  themselves.  In  the  English 
army  there  would  from  the  first  have  been  no  doubt 
about  the  real  commander — Hawkwood,  perhaps,  who 
was  believed  to  have  begun  life  as  a  tailor's  apprentice, 
or  Knolles,  whom  this  war  had  taken  from  the  weaver's 
loom. 

Even  the  magnificent  Edward,  with  all  his  Round 
Table  and  his  Order  of  the  Garter,  was  forced  to 
recognize  clearly  that  war  is  above  all  things  a  business. 
In  the  earlier  days  he  did  indeed  defy  Philippe  de 
Valois  to  single  combat;  but  during  the  campaign  of 
Crccy  he  made  light  of  the  laws  of  chivalry.  He  had 
penetrated  close  to  Paris;  his  army  was  melting  away; 
provisions  were  scarce  ;    and  the  French   had   broken 


THE   GREAT   WAR  243 

the  bridges  in  his  rear.     At  this  point  Philip  sent  him 
a   regular   chivalric    challenge    in    form    to    meet    him 
with  his  army  on  a  field  and  a  day  to  be  fixed  at  his 
own  choice,  within  certain  reasonable  limits.     Edward 
returned  a  misleading  answer,  made  a   corresponding 
feint   with    his    troops,    rapidly   rebuilt    the    bridge    of 
Poissy,  and   had  crossed   to   a   place   of  safety  before 
Philip  realized  that  a  clever  piece  of  strategy  had  been 
executed  under  his  very  nose  and  behind  the  forms  of 
chivalry.     Then  only  did  Edward  throw  off  the  mask, 
and  declare  his  intention  of  choosing  his  own  place  and 
time  for  battle.      His   Royal  great-grandson  was  even 
more   business-like.      When   the   French   nobles   asked 
Henry   V.    to   give   a   great  tourney  in   honour   of  his 
marriage,  as  had  always  been  the  custom,  he  refused  in 
the  bluntest  and  most  soldierly  fashion.     He  and  his 
men,  he   replied,  would  be  engaged  for  the  next   few 
weeks  at  the  siege  of  Sens ;  if  any  gallant  Frenchman 
wished  to   break  a  lance  or  two,  he  might  come  and 
break  them  there.     While  this    mimic  warfare  was   at 
its  highest  favour  in  France,  the  three    Edwards   had 
always   kept  jealous   control   over  it   in    England,   and 
constantly  forbidden  tournaments  without  Royal  licence. 
This    policy   is,   no   doubt,    partly   explained    by   some 
deference  to  ecclesiastical  prohibitions,  and  partly  by 
the  disorders  to  which  jousts  constantly  gave  rise;  but 
we  may  pretty  safely  infer  (with  Luce)  that  our  kings 
had   little   belief  in   the   direct   value    of   the    knightly 
tournament  as  a  school  of  warfare,  and  that  here,  as  on 
so  many  other  points,  the  practical  genius  of  the  race 
broke  even  through  class  prejudices.* 

It   is   impossible   better   to   sum   up   the  results   of 

*  Tournaments  not  infrequently  gave  rise  to  treacherous  murders  and 
vendettas,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir  Walter  Mauny's  father  (Froissart, 
Buchon.,  i.,  199).  Compare  also  the  scandal  caused  by  the  women  who 
used  to  attend  them  in  men's  clothes  (Knighton,  ii.,  p.  57).  Luce,  how- 
ever, very  much  overstates  the  Royal  objections  to  jousts  (pp.  113,  I4i)' 
He  evidently  fails  to  realize  what  a  large  number  of  authorized  tourneys 
were  held  by  Edward  III. 


244  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

English  business  methods  in  warfare  than  in  the  words, 
which  are  forced  reluctantly  from  M.  Luce's  impartial 
pen.  "  In  my  opinion,  five  or  six  thousand  English 
archers,  thus  drilled  and  equipped,  and  supported  by 
an  equal  number  of  knifemen,  would  always  have  beaten 
even  considerably  larger  forces  of  the  bravest  chivalry 
in  the  world — at  least  in  a  frontal  attack  and  as  a  matter 
of  sheer  hard  fighting.  Such,  moreover,  seems  to  have 
been  the  opinion  of  Bertrand  du  Guesclin,  the  most 
renowned  captain  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who  never  fought 
a  great  pitched  battle  against  a  real  English  army  if  he 
could  possibly  help  it.  At  Cocherel  his  adversaries 
were  mostly  Gascons,  and  at  Pontvallain  he  crushed 
Knolles's  rear-guard  by  one  of  those  startling  marches 
of  which  he  had  the  secret ;  but  he  was  beaten  at  Auray 
and  Navarette."  Gower  might  complain  without  too 
poetical  exaggeration  that  the  vortex  of  war  swept  away 
not  only  the  serf  from  his  plough  but  the  very  priest 
from  his  altar;  yet  even  Chaucer's  Poor  Parson  may 
well  have  conceded  that,  if  we  must  have  an  army  at 
all,  we  might  as  well  have  it  as  efficient  and  as  truly 
national  as  possible. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   BURDEN   OF  THE   WAR 

"  [Edward],  the  first  of  English  nation 

That  ever  had  right  unto  the  crown  of  France 
By  succession  of  blood  and  generation 
Of  his  mother  withouten  variance, 
The  which  me  thinketh  should  be  of  most  substance  ; 
For  Christ  was  king  by  his  mother  of  Judee, 
Which  surer  side  is  ay,  as  thinketh  me." 

Hardyng,  "  Chronicle,"  335 

IT  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  so  terrible  a 
weapon  in  so  rough  an  age  was  only  too  dangerous. 
When  Edward  III.  found  that  his  cousin  of  France  not 
only  meant  to  deal  treacherously  with  him  in  Aquitaine, 
but  had  also  allied  himself  with  our  deadly  enemies  of 
Scotland,  he  found  a  very  colourable  excuse  for  retalia- 
tion by  raising  a  claim  to  the  throne  of  France.  But  for 
the  Salic  law,  which  forbade  inheritance  through  a 
female,  Edward  would  undoubtedly  be,  if  not  the  right- 
ful heir,  at  least  nearer  than  Philippe  de  Valois,  who 
now  sat  on  that  throne.  The  Biblical  colour  which  he 
gave  to  his  claim  by  pleading  the  precedent  of  "Judee" 
was  of  course  the  after-thought  of  some  ingenious 
theologian  ;  the  real  strength  of  Edward's  claim  lay  in 
his  army.  To  appreciate  the  strength  of  Edward's 
temptations  here,  we  must  imagine  modern  Germany 
adding  to  her  other  armaments  a  navy  capable  of  com- 
manding the  seas,  a  Kaiser  fettered  by  even  less 
constitutional  checks  than  at  present,  and  sharing 
with  his  people  even  greater  incitements  to  cupidity. 
Beyond  the  prospect,  always  dazzling  enough  to  a 
statesman,  of  an  enormous  indemnity  and  a  substantial 


246  CHAUCER   AND    HIS   ENGLAND 

increase  of  territory,  medieval  warfare  offered  even  to 
the  meanest  English  soldier  only  too  probable  hopes  of 
riot  and  booty.  Froissart,  though  he  seldom  feels  very 
deeply  for  the  mere  people,  describes  our  first  march 
through  the  defenceless  districts  of  Normandy  in  words 
which  make  us  understand  why  this  unhappy,  unpre- 
pared country  could  only  mark  time  for  the  next 
hundred  years,  while  we,  in  spite  of  all  our  faults  and 
follies,  went  on  slowly  from  strength  to  strength. 
England,  with  her  own  four  or  five  millions  and  a  little 
help  from  Aquitaine,  rode  roughshod  again  and  again 
over  the  disorganized  ten  millions  north  of  the  Loire; 
while  the  French — even  during  those  thirty  years  of 
union  which  elapsed  between  the  recovery  of  Guienne 
and  the  murder  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans — frequently 
enough  burned  our  southern  seaports,  but  never  pene- 
trated more  than  a  few  miles  inland  in  the  face  of  our 
shire-levies. 

The  contrast  is  in  every  way  characteristic  of 
Chaucer's  England,  and  Froissart's  description  is  of  the 
deepest  significance,  not  only  to  the  student  of  political 
and  social  history,  but  even  to  the  literary  historian.  It 
has  been  noted  that  Chaucer's  deepest  note  of  pathos 
is  for  the  sorrows  of  the  helpless — the  irremediable 
sufferings  of  those  whose  frailty  has  tempted  murder 
or  oppression,  and  to  whom  the  poet  himself  can  off'er 
nothing  but  a  tear  on  earth  and  some  hope  of  redress 
in  heaven.  Let  us  remember,  then,  that  Chaucer  fought 
in  two  French  campaigns,  identical  in  kind  and  not 
even  differing  much  in  degree  from  the  invasion  of 
1346  which  Froissart  describes.  "  They  came  to  a  good 
port  and  to  a  good  town  called  Barfleur,  the  which 
incontinent  was  won,  for  they  within  gave  up  for  fear 
of  death.  Howbeit,  for  all  that  the  town  was  robbed, 
and  much  gold  and  silver  there  found,  and  rich  jewels ; 
there  was  found  so  much  riches,  that  the  boys  and 
villains  of  the  host  set  nothing  by  good  furred  gowns ; 
they  made  all  the  men  of  the  town  to  issue  out  and  to  go 


THE   BURDEN   OF  THE   WAR  247 

into  the  ships,  because  they  would  not  suffer  them  to 
be  behind  them  for  fear  of  rebelling  again.     After  the 
town  of  Barfleur  was  thus  taken  and  robbed  without 
brenning,  then  they  spread  abroad  in  the  country  and 
did  what  they  list,  for  there  was  none  to  resist  them. 
At   last  they   came  to   a  great  and  a  rich  town  called 
Cherbourg;   the  town  they   won   and   robbed   it,   and 
brent  part  thereof,  but  into  the  castle  they  could  not 
come,  it  was  so  strong  and  well  furnished  with  men  of 
war.     Then  they  passed  forth  and  came  to  Montebourg, 
and   took   it   and   robbed   and   brent  it  clean.     In  this 
manner  they  brent  many  other  towns  in  that  country 
and  won  so  much  riches,  that  it  was  marvel  to  reckon 
it.     Then  they  came  to  a  great  town  well  closed  called 
Carentan,  where  there  was   also   a  strong   castle  and 
many  soldiers  within  to  keep  it.     Then  the  lords  came 
out    of   their    ships    and    fiercely    made    assault ;    the 
burgesses  of  the  town  were  in  great  fear  of  their  lives, 
wives   and  children ;   they  suffered  the    Englishmen  to 
enter  into  the  town  against  the  will  of  all  the  soldiers 
that  were  there  ;  they  put  all  their  goods  to  the  English- 
men's   pleasures,    they   thought   that    most   advantage. 
When  the  soldiers  within  saw  that,  they  went  into  the 
castle;   the    Englishmen  went  into  the   town,  and   two 
days  together  they  made  sore   assaults,  so  that  when 
they  within  saw  no  succour,  they  yielded  up,  their  lives 
and  goods  saved,  and  so  departed.      The  Englishmen 
had  their  pleasure  of  that  good  town  and  castle,  and 
when  they  saw  they  might  not  maintain  to  keep  it,  they 
set  fire  therein  and  brent  it,  and  made  the  burgesses  of 
the  town  to  enter  into  their  ships,  as  they  had  done 
with  them  of  Barfleur,  Cherbourg  and  Montebourg,  and 
of  other  towns  that  they  had  won  on  the  sea-side.  .  .  . 
The    lord    Godfrey    as    marshal    rode    forth   with    five 
hundred  men   of  arms,   and  rode   off  from   the   king's 
battle  a  six  or  seven  leagues,  in  brenning  and  exiling 
the  country,  the  which  was  plentiful  of  everything — the 
granges  full  of  corn,  the  houses  full  of  all  riches,  rich 


248  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

burgesses,  carts  and  chariots,  horse,  swine,  muttons  and 
other  beasts ;  they  took  what  them  list  and  brought 
into  the  king's  host ;  but  the  soldiers  made  no  count  to 
the  king  nor  to  none  of  his  officers  of  the  gold  and  silver 
that  they  did  get ;  they  kept  that  to  themselves.  . .  .  Thus 
by  the  Englishmen  was  brent,  exiled,  robbed,  wasted 
and  pilled  the  good,  plentiful  country  of  Normandy.  .  .  , 
It  was  no  marvel  though  they  of  the  country  were 
afraid,  for  before  that  time  they  had  never  seen  men  of 
war,  nor  they  wist  not  what  war  or  battle  meant.  They 
fled  away  as  far  as  they  might  hear  speaking  of  the 
Englishmen,  and  left  their  houses  well  stuffed,  and 
granges  full  of  corn,  they  wist  not  how  to  save  and  keep 
it."  Hitherto  Froissart  has  only  deigned  to  record  the 
fire  and  pillage ;  but  the  melancholy  catalogue  now  goes 
on  to  Coutances,  Saint-Lo,  and  Caen,  where  at  last  the 
citizens  fought  boldly  in  defence  of  their  unwalled  town, 
"  greater  than  any  city  in  England  except  London."  In 
spite  of  their  numbers,  and  of  an  obstinate  courage 
which  extorted  the  admiration  of  their  adversaries,  the 
half-armed  and  untrained  citizens  were  at  last  hopelessly 
beaten,  and  the  town  given  over  to  the  infuriated 
soldiery;  though  here  Sir  Thomas  Holland,  an  old 
Crusader,  who  might  have  sat  for  Chaucer's  Knight, 
"rode  into  the  streets  and  saved  many  lives  of  ladies, 
damosels,  and  cloisterers  from  defoiling,  for  the  soldiers 
were  without  mercy."  * 

At  a  later  stage,  when  the  horrors  of  civil  war  were 
added  to  those  of  the  English  invasion,  the  Norman 
chronicler,  Thomas  Basin,  describes  the  fertile  country 
between  Loire,  Seine,  and  Somme  as  a  mere  wilderness, 
half  overgrown  with  brambles  and  thickets.  "More- 
over, whatsoever  husbandry  there  was  in  the  aforesaid 
lands,  was  only  in  the  neighbourhood  and  suburbs  of 
cities,  towns,  or  castles,  for  so  far  as  a  watchman's  eye 
from  some  tower  or  point  of  vantage  could  reach  to  see 
robbers  coming  upon  them ;  then  would  the  watchman 

*  Froissart,  Globe,  94-97. 


THE   BURDEN   OF  THE   WAR  249 

sound  the  alarm  ...  on  a  bell  or  hunting  horn,  or  other 
bugle.  Which  alarms  and  incursions  were  so  common 
and  frequent  in  very  many  places,  that  when  the  oxen 
anJ  plough-horses  were  loosed  from  the  plough,  hearing 
the  watchman's  signal,  they  took  flight  and  galloped 
away  forthwith  of  their  own  accord,  by  the  force  of 
habit,  to  their  places  of  refuge ;  nay,  the  very  sheep  and 
swine  had  learnt  by  long  use  to  do  the  same."  The 
French  Bishop  Jean-Jouvenel  des  Ursins,  in  1433,  speaks 
of  the  sufferings  of  his  diocese  in  language  too  painful 
and  too  direct  to  be  reproduced  here.* 

To  realize  the  full  force  of  these  descriptions,  it  is 
necessary  to  compare  them  with  those  of  the  good 
monk  Walsingham,  who  drily  records  how  Edward 
"attacked,  took,  sacked,  and  burnt  Caen,  and  many 
other  cities  after  it."  It  is  only  when  Edward  comes 
back  from  Calais  with  his  victorious  army  that 
Walsingham  waxes  eloquent.  "  Then  folk  thought  that 
a  new  sun  was  rising  over  England,  for  the  abundance 
of  peace,  the  plenty  of  possessions,  and  the  glory  of 
victory.  For  there  was  no  woman  of  any  name,  but 
had  somewhat  of  the  spoils  of  Caen,  Calais,  and  other 
cities  beyond  the  seas.  Furs,  feather-beds,  or  household 
utensils,  tablecloths  and  necklaces,  cups  of  gold  or 
silver,  linen  and  sheets,  were  to  be  seen  scattered  about 
England  in  different  houses.  Then  began  the  English 
ladies  to  wax  wanton  in  the  vesture  of  the  French 
women ;  and  as  the  latter  grieved  to  have  lost  their 
goods,  so  the  former  rejoiced  to  have  obtained  them."t 
In  an  age  of  brute  force,  when  popes  hesitated  no  more 
than  kings  to  shed  rivers  of  blood  for  a  few  square  miles 
of  territory,  when  every  sailor  was  a  potential  pirate 

*  Denifle,  "  La  Desolation  des  Eglises,"  etc.,  vol.  i.,  pp.  497,  504, 
514.  Two  pages  from  English  chroniclers  are  almost  as  bad  as  any  of 
the  iniquities  printed  in  Father  Denifle's  book,  viz.  the  sack  of  Winchelsea 
(Knighton,  ii.,  109)  and  Sir  John  Arundel's  shipload  of  nuns  from  South- 
ampton (Walsingham,  an.  1379;  told  briefly  in  "Social  England,"  illd. 
ed.,  vol.  ii.  p.  260). 

t  Cf.  Knighton,  ii.,  102. 


250  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

and  every  baron  a  potential  highwayman  * — in  such  an 
age  as  this,  no  nation  could  have  resisted  the  lust  of 
conquest  when  it  had  once  realized  the  wealth  and 
supine  helplessness  of  a  neighbour.  "The  English," 
wrote  Froissart,  when  old  age  had  brought  him  to 
ponder  less  on  feats  of  arms  and  more  on  eternity,  "The 
English  will  never  love  or  honour  their  king  but  if  he 
be  victorious,  and  a  lover  of  arms  and  war  against  his 
neighbours,  and  especially  against  such  as  are  greater 
and  richer  than  themselves.  .  .  .  Their  land  is  more 
fulfilled  of  riches  and  all  manner  of  goods  when  they 
are  at  war,  than  in  times  of  peace ;  and  therein  are  they 
born  and  ingrained,  nor  could  a  man  make  them  under- 
stand the  contrary.  .  .  .  They  take  delight  and  solace  in 
battles  and  in  slaughter:  covetous  and  envious  are  they 
above  measure  of  other  men's  wealth."  f  But  when 
exhausted  France  could  no  longer  yield  more  than  a 
mere  livelihood  to  the  armies  which  overran  her,  then 
at  last  things  found  their  proper  level,  and  the  nation 
wearied  of  bloodshed.  "  Universal  conscription  proved 
then  as  now  the  great  inculcator  of  peace.  To  the 
burgher  called  from  the  loom  and  the  dyeing  pit  and 
the  market  stall  to  take  down  his  bow  or  dagger,  war 
was  a  hard  and  ungrateful  service,  where  reward  and 
plunder  were  dealt  out  with  a  niggardly  hand ;  and  men 
conceived  a  deep  hatred  of  strife  and  disorder  of  which 
they  had  measured  all  the  misery."! 

*  Green,  "Town  Life,"  I.,  130.  "At  the  close  of  the  14th  century 
a  certain  knight,  Baldwin  of  Radington,  with  the  help  of  John  of 
Stanley,  raised  eight  hundred  fighting  men  '  to  destroy  and  hurt  the 
commons  of  Chester'  ;  and  these  stalwart  warriors  broke  into  the  abbey, 
seized  the  wine,  and  dashed  the  furniture  in  pieces,  and  when  the  mayor 
and  sheriff  came  to  the  rescue  nearly  killed  the  sheriff.  When  in  1441 
the  Archbishop  of  York  determined  to  fight  for  his  privileges  in  Ripon 
Fair,  he  engaged  two  hundred  men-at-arms  from  Scotland  and  the 
Marches  at  sixpence  or  a  shilling  a  day,  while  a  Yorkshire  gentleman, 
Sir  John  Plumpton,  gathered  seven  hundred  men  ;  and  at  the  battle  that 
ensued,  more  than  a  thousand  arrows  were  discharged  by  them." 

t  Ed.  Luce,  i.,  213,  214;  cf.  312. 

t  Mrs.  Green,  /.  c,  i.,  131. 


THE  BURDEN   OF  THE   WAR  251 

But,  terribly  as  it  might  press  upon  our  enemies 
in  those  days,  when  the  private  soldier  had  almost  an 
unrestricted  right  of  pillage,  the  Statute  of  Winchester 
was  none  the  less  necessary  to  the  full  development  of 
our  political  freedom.  Indeed,  it  is  scarcely  a  paradox 
to  say  that  those  civic  and  Parliamentary  liberties  which 
made  such  rapid  strides  during  the  sixty  years  of 
Chaucer's  lifetime  owed  as  much  to  this  burden  of 
personal  service  as  to  anything  else.  To  begin  with, 
it  was  a  police  system  also ;  and,  for  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  the  country,  the  only  police  system.  When  the 
hue  and  cry  was  raised  after  a  robber  or  a  murderer, 
all  were  then  bound  to  tumble  out  of  doors  and  join  in 
the  chase  with  such  arms  as  they  had,  just  as  they  were 
bound  to  turn  out  and  take  their  share  in  the  national 
war.  When  all  the  disorders  of  the  14th  century  have 
been  counted  up  in  England,  they  are  as  dust  in  the 
balance  compared  with  those  of  foreign  countries.  The 
Peasants'  Rising  of  1381  astonishes  modern  historians 
in  nothing  so  much  as  in  its  sudden  rise,  its  sudden 
end  when  the  King  had  promised  redress,  and  its 
comparative  orderliness  in  disorder.  But,  on  second 
thoughts,  does  not  this  seem  natural  enough  among 
a  people  accustomed  to  rough  military  discipline,  and 
liable  any  day  to  be  arrayed,  as  they  had  laboured,  side 
by  side  ?  *  Lastly,  we  have  the  repeated  testimony 
of  our  most  determined  enemies  to  the  superiority  of 
English  over  French  discipline.  Bishop  des  Ursins, 
in  a  letter  written  to  the  Erench  Parliament  in  1433, 
describes  the  worst  horrors  of  the  war  as  having  been 
committed  by  French  upon  French  ;  and  he  expressly 
adds,  "at  present,  things  are  somewhat  amended  by 
the  coming  of  the  English."  This  modified  compliment 
he  repeats  again  in  a  letter  to  Charles  VII.,  adding, 
"  [the  English]  did  indeed  at  least  keep  their  assurances 
once  given,  and  also  their  safe  conducts";   while  the 

*  This  point  is  treated  more  fully  in  the  next  chapter. 


252  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

French  (as  he  complains)  often  made  light  of  their  own 
engagements.*  Indeed,  the  whole  array  of  documents 
collected  by  the  astounding  diligence  of  the  late  sub- 
prefect  of  the  Vatican  Library  is  calculated — we  may  not 
say,  to  make  us  read  with  equanimity  the  tale  of  horrors 
perpetrated  by  our  countrymen  in  France — but  at  least 
to  shift  much  of  the  blame  from  the  individuals  to  the 
times  in  which  they  lived.  The  English  were  not  cruel 
merely  because  they  were  strong ;  the  weaker  French 
were  on  the  whole  more  cruel;  nowhere  has  the  bitter 
proverb  Galhts  Gallo  lupus  been  more  terribly  justified. 
The  main  difference  was  that,  in  an  age  when  a  man 
must  needs  be  hammer  or  anvil,  our  national  character 
and  organization,  no  doubt  assisted  also  by  fortune, 
enabled  us  to  play  the  former  part.  Father  Denifle 
shows  very  clearly  how  even  great  and  good  Frenchmen 
like  Des  Ursins,  living  in  Joan  of  Arc's  time,  were 
ashamed  of  her  because  she  seemed  to  have  failed.  The 
impulses  of  actual  chivalry — apart  from  its  nominal 
code — were  at  best  even  more  capricious  in  France 
than  in  England.  Knightly  mercy  and  forbearance 
seldom  even  professed  to  include  the  mere  rank  and 
file  of  a  conquered  army.  When  a  place  was  taken  by 
storm,  it  was  common  to  ransom  the  officers  and  kill 
the  rest  without  merc3\  Here  and  there  a  knight  earns 
special  praise  from  Froissart  by  pleading  for  the  lives 
of  the  unhappy  privates  who  had  fought  as  bravely  as 
himself;  but  I  remember  no  case  of  one  who  actually 
insisted  on  sharing  the  fate  of  his  men.  The  Black 
Prince  tarnished  his  fair  fame  by  the  massacre  of 
Limoges;  yet  in  this  he  did  but  follow  the  example  of 
the  saintly  Charles  de  Blois,  who  thanked  God  for 
victory  in  the  cathedral  of  Quimper  while  his  men  were 
making  a  hell  of  the  captured  city.  His  orisons 
finished,  Charles  stayed  the  slaughter;  and  the  Black 
Prince,  after  watching  the  butchery  of  Limoges  from 
his  litter,  and  turning  his  face  away  from  women  and 

*  Denifle,  /.  c,  pp.  497,  504. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  THE  WAR  253 

children  who  knelt  to  implore  his  mercy,  was  at  last 
appeased  by  the  manly  spectacle  of  three  French 
warriors  fighting  boldly  for  their  lives  against  three 
Englishmen.*  Their  courage  saved  them,  and  what 
we  might  now  call  their  conqueror's  sporting  instincts ; 
just  as  Queen  Philippa's  timely  pleading  saved  the 
citizens  of  Calais.  AH  honour  to  the  noble  impulse 
in  both  cases ;  but  greater  honour  still  to  the  manly 
independence  and  discipline  which  saved  our  English 
commonalty  from  the  need  of  appealing  to  a  conqueror's 
mercy ;  which  defended  them  alike  from  robbers  at 
home  and  Frenchmen  over  the  seas,  and  left  us  free  to 
work  out  our  own  liberties  without  foreign  interference. 
No  doubt  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  were  partly  a  legacy 
of  our  unjust  aggression  in  France  ;  but  English  civil 
wars  have  been  among  the  least  disorderly  the  world 
has  known ;  in  all  of  them  the  citizen-levies  have  fought 
stoutly  on  the  side  of  liberty ;  and  for  centuries  after 
Chaucer's  death  the  national  militia  was  recognized  as 
a  strong  counterpoise  to  the  unconstitutional  tendencies 
of  the  standing  army. 

Of  all  this  Froissart  recognized  little  indeed  ;  though 
we,  in  the  light  of  a  hundred  other  documents,  can  see 
how  all  went  on  under  Froissart's  eyes.  He  saw  clearly 
that  this  was  the  most  warlike  nation  in  Europe;  he  saw 
also  that  it  was  the  most  democratic ;  but  he  seems 
neither  to  have  traced  any  connection  here  on  the  one 
hand,  nor  on  the  other  to  have  been  troubled  by  any 
sense  of  contrast ;  it  was  not  in  his  genius  to  look  for 
causes,  but  rather  to  repeat  with  child-like  vivacity 
what  he  saw  and  heard.  Yet  for  us,  to  whom  nothing 
in  Chaucer's  England  can  be  more  interesting  than  to 
watch,  under  the  great  trees  of  the  forest,  the  springing 
of  that  undergrowth  which  was  in  time  to  become  the 
present    British   people,  it   is   delightful   to   turn   from 

*  "  More  than  three  thousand  men,  women,  and  children  were  beheaded 
that  day.  God  have  mercy  on  their  souls,  for  I  trow  they  were  martyrs." 
Froissart  (Globe),  201. 


254  CHAUCER  AND    HIS  ENGLAND 

pictures  of  mere  successful  bloodshed  to  Froissart's 
bitter-sweet  judgments  on  the  national  character. 
"  Englishmen  suffer  indeed  for  a  season,  but  in  the 
end  they  repay  so  cruelly  that  it  may  stand  as  a  great 
warning;  for  no  man  may  mock  them;  the  lord  who 
governs  them  rises  and  lays  him  down  to  rest  in  sore 
peril  of  his  life.  .  .  .  And  specially  there  is  no  people 
under  the  sun  so  perilous  in  the  matter  of  its  common 
folk  as  they  are  in  England.  For  in  England  the  nature 
and  condition  of  the  nobles  is  very  far  different  from 
that  of  the  common  folk  and  villeins  ;  for  the  gentlefolk 
are  of  loyal  and  noble  condition,  and  the  common 
people  is  of  a  fell,  perilous,  proud  and  disloyal  con- 
dition :  and  wheresoever  the  people  would  show  their 
fierceness  and  their  power,  the  nobles  would  not  last 
long  after.  But  now  for  a  long  time  they  have  been 
at  good  accord  together,  for  the  nobles  ask  nothing  of 
the  people  but  what  is  of  full  reason ;  moreover  none 
would  suffer  them  to  take  aught  from  him  without 
payment — nay,  not  an  egg  or  a  hen.  The  tradesmen 
and  labourers  of  England  live  by  the  travail  of  their 
hands,  and  the  nobles  live  on  their  own  rents  and 
revenues,  and  if  the  kings  vex  them  they  are  repaid  ; 
not  that  the  king  can  tax  his  people  at  pleasure,  no ! 
nor  the  people  would  not  or  could  not  suffer  it.  There 
are  certain  ordinances  and  covenants  settled  upon  the 
staple  of  wool,  wherefrom  the  king  is  assisted  beyond 
his  own  rents  and  revenues ;  and  when  they  go  to  war, 
that  covenant  is  doubled.  England  is  best  kept  of  all 
lands  in  the  world ;  otherwise  they  could  by  no  means 
live  together;  and  it  behoveth  well  that  a  king  who  is 
their  lord  should  order  his  wa3's  after  them  and  bow 
to  their  will  in  many  matters ;  and  if  he  do  the  contrary, 
so  that  evil  come  thereof,  bitterly  then  shall  he  rue  it, 
as  did  this  king  Edward  II."  "And  men  said  then  in 
London  and  throughout  England  'we  must  reform  and 
take  a  new  ordinance  [with  our  king] ;  for  that  which 
we  have  had  hath  brought  us  sore  weariness  and  travail. 


THE   BURDEN   OF  THE   WAR  255 

and  this  kingdom  of  ours  is  not  worth  a  straw  without 
a  good  head ;  whereas  we  have  had  one  as  bad  as  a  man 
can  find,  .  .  .  We  have  no  use  for  a  sluggish  and  heavy 
king  who  seeketh  too  much  his  own  ease  and  pleasure; 
we  would  rather  slay  half  a  hundred  of  such,  one  after 
the  other,  than  fail  to  get  a  king  to  our  use  and  liking." 
"  The  King  of  England  must  needs  obey  his  people,  and 
do  all  their  will."* 

We  with  our  present  liberties  must  not  of  course 
take  these  words  of  Froissart's  too  literally ;  but  they 
must  have  conveyed  a  very  definite  and,  on  the  whole,  a 
very  true  impression  to  his  French  contemporaries ; 
for  no  language  but  that  of  hyperbole  could  adequately 
have  described  the  contrast  between  their  polity  and 
that  of  England.  Moreover,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  Froissart  wrote  this  with  the  Peasant's  Revolt 
not  far  behind  him,  and  the  deposition  of  Richard  II. 
fresh  in  his  mind.  The  truth  is  that  the  feudal  system 
was  already  slowly  but  surely  breaking  down  in 
England :  our  lower  classes,  with  recognized  constitu- 
tional rights  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  hand 
a  rough  military  organization  and  discipline  of  their 
own,  were,  in  many  ways,  far  more  free  in  1389  than  the 
French  peasants  of  1789.  Chaucer  and  Froissart  always 
felt  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts  this  coming  of  the 
People ;  it  lends  a  breadth  to  their  thoughts  and  colour 
to  their  brush  even  when  they  paint  the  gorgeous 
pageantry  of  overripe  feudalism  ;  labouring  the  more 
earnestly,  perhaps,  to  record  these  fleeting  hues  because 
of  the  night  which  must  needs  come  before  the  new 
day.  And  how  vivid  their  pictures  are !  The  prologue 
to  the  "  Book  of  the  Duchess,"  the  castle  garden  and 
the  tournament  in  the  Knight's  Tale,  Troilus  with  his 
knights  pacing  the  aisles  of  the  temple  to  gaze  on  the 
ladies  at  their  prayers,  or  riding  home  under  Criseyde's 
balcony  after  the  victorious  fight :  Froissart's  stories  of 
the  Chaplet  of  Pearls,  the  Court  of  Gaston  de  Foix, 
*  Ed.  Luce,  pp.  214,  249,  337. 


256  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

the  Dance  of  the  Wild  Men,  Queen  Isabella's  entry  into 
London — what  an  enchanted  palace  of  tapestries  and 
stained  glass  we  have  here,  and  what  a  school  of  stately 
manners !  But  time,  which  takes  away  so  much,  brings 
us  still  more  in  compensation ;  and  without  treason  to 
Chaucer  or  his  age  we  may  frankly  admit  that  his  perfect 
knight  is  only  younger  brother  to  Colonel  Newcome, 
and  that  Froissart  himself  can  show  us  no  figure  so 
deeply  chivalrous  as  the  Lawrences  or  the  Havelocks 
of  our  later  Indian  Wars. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  POOR 

"  Misuse  not  thy  bondman,  the  better  mayst  thou  speed  ; 
Though  he  be  thine  underling  here,  well  may  hap  in  heaven 
That  he  win  a  worthier  seat,  and  with  more  bliss  ; 
For  in  charnel  at  the  church  churls  be  evil  to  know, 
Or  a  knight  from  a  knave  there  ;  know  this  in  thine  heart." 

"  Piers  Plowman,"  B.,  vi.,  46 

IT  has  sometimes  been  contended  in  recent  years  that 
the  Middle  Ages  lacked  only  our  smug  middle-class 
comfort ;  and  that,  as  the  upper  classes  were  nobler,  so 
the  poor  were  healthier  and  happier  then.  It  is  probable 
that  the  latter  part  of  this  theory  is  at  least  as  mistaken 
as  the  first :  but  the  question  is  in  itself  more  complicated, 
and  we  have  naturally  less  detailed  evidence  in  the  poor 
man's  case  than  in  the  rich  man's.  Among  the  great,  we 
find  many  virtues  and  many  vices  common  to  both  ages; 
but  a  careful  comparison  reveals  certain  grave  faults 
whith  put  the  earlier  state  of  society,  as  we  might 
expect,  at  a  definite  and  serious  disadvantage.  No 
gentleman  of  the  present  day  would  dream  of  striking 
his  wife  and  daughters,  of  talking  to  them  like  the 
Knight  of  La  Tour  Landry,  or  like  the  Merchant  in 
the  presence  of  the  Nuns,  or  of  selling  marriages  and 
wardships  in  the  open  market.  All  the  redeeming 
virtues  in  the  world,  we  should  feel,  could  not  put  the 
man  who  saw  no  harm  in  these  things  in  the  front  rank 
of  real  gentility.  Such  plain  and  decisive  methods  of 
differentiation,  however,  begin  to  disappear  as  we 
descend  the  social  scale ;  until,  at  the  very  bottom,  we 
find  little  or  no  difference  in  coarseness  of  moral  fibre 
between  our  own  contemporaries  and  Chaucer's.     For 


258  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

it  stands  to  reason  that  the  development  of  the  poor 
cannot  be  so  rapid  as  that  of  the  upper  classes.  In 
all  human  affairs,  to  him  that  hath  shall  be  given ; 
the  superior  energy  and  abilities  of  one  family  will 
differentiate  it  more  and  more,  as  life  becomes  more 
complicated,  from  other  families  which  still  vegetate 
among  the  mass ;  and  in  proportion  as  the  wealth  of 
the  world  increases,  the  gap  must  necessarily  widen 
between  the  man  who  has  most  and  the  man  who  has 
least ;  since  there  have  always  been  a  certain  number 
who  possess,  and  are  capable  of  possessing  or  keeping, 
virtually  nothing.  In  that  sense,  the  terrible  contrast 
between  wealth  and  poverty  is  undoubtedly  worse  in 
our  days ;  but  this  fact  in  itself  is  as  insignificant  as 
it  is  unavoidable.  The  tramp  on  the  highroad  is  not 
appreciably  unhappier  for  knowing  that  his  nothingness 
is  contrasted  nowadays  with  Mr.  Carnegie's  millions 
instead  of  de  la  Pole's  thousands ;  and  again,  until  we 
can  find  some  means  of  distributing  the  accumulations 
of  the  rich  among  the  poor  without  doing  far  more 
harm  than  good,  the  community  loses  no  more  by 
allowing  a  selfish  man  to  lock  up  his  millions,  than 
formerly  when  they  were  onl}^  hundreds  or  thousands. 
The  securities  afforded  by  modern  societ}'  for  possession 
and  accumulation  of  wealth  do  indeed  often  permit  the 
capitalist  to  sweat  his  workmen  deplorably ;  but  these 
are  the  same  securities  which  allow  the  workman  to 
sleep  in  certain  possession  of  his  own  little  savings. 
While  the  capitalist  is  accumulating  money,  the  fore- 
sight and  self-restraint  of  the  workmen  enables  them  to 
accumulate  votes,  which  in  the  long  run  are  worth  even 
more.  Much  may  no  doubt  be  done  in  detail  by  keeping 
in  eye  the  simpler  methods  of  our  ancestors  ;  but  no 
sound  principle  can  be  modelled  on  an  age  when  nothing 
prevented  capitalists  from  hoarding  but  lack  of  decent 
security,  when  strikes  were  rare  only  because  of  penal 
laws  against  all  combinations  of  workmen,  and  when  the 
peasant  was  partly  kept  from  starving  by  his  recognized 


THE   POOR  259 

market  value  as  the  domestic  animal  of  his  master.  We 
could  easily  remedy  many  desperate  social  difficulties — 
for  the  moment  at  least — if  we  might  reduce  half  the 
population  of  England  again  to  the  status  of  serfs. 

"The  social  questions  of  the  period  cannot  be 
understood,  unless  we  remember  that  in  1381  more 
than  half  the  people  of  England  did  not  possess  the 
privileges  which  Magna  Charta  secured  to  every 
'freeman.'  "  *  The  English  serf  was  indeed  some  degrees 
better  off  than  his  French  brother,  to  whose  lord  the 
legist  Pierre  de  Fontaines  could  write  in  the  13th 
century  "by  our  custom  there  is  between  thee  and  thy 
villein  no  judge  but  only  God."t  The  English  serf 
could  not  be  evicted,  but  neither  could  he  leave  his 
holding  ;  he  was  transferred  with  the  estate  from  master 
to  master  as  a  portion  of  the  live  stock.  By  custom,  as 
the  master  had  rights  to  definite  services  or  money  dues 
from  him,  so  he  had  definite  rights  as  against  his  master ; 
but  though  in  cases  of  manslaughter  or  maiming  the 
serf  could  appeal  to  the  king's  courts,  all  other  cases 
must  be  heard  in  the  manor  court,  where  the  lord  was 
judge  in  his  own  cause.  Let  us  hear  Chaucer  himself 
on  this  subject,  in  his  Parson's  Tale:  "Through  this 
cursed  sin  of  avarice  and  covetise  come  these  hard  lord- 
ships, through  which  men  be  distrained  by  tallages, 
customs,  and  carriages  more  than  their  duty  or  reason 
is  :  and  eke  take  they  of  their  bondmen  amercements 
which  might  more  reasonably  be  called  extortions  than 
amercements.  Of  which  amercements,  or  ransoming  of 
bondmen,  some  lords'  stewards  say  that  it  is  rightful, 
forasmuch  as  a  churl  hath  no  temporal  thing  that  is  not 
his  lord's,  as  they  say.  But  certes  these  lordships  do 
wrong  that  bereave  their  bondmen  [of]  things  that  they 
never  gave  them."    In  theory,  the  workers  had  indeed  a 

*  Trevelyan,  "England  in  the  Age  of  Wycliffe,"  ist  Edn.,  p.  195. 

t  "  Conseil  "  (in  Appendix  to  Ducange's  "Joinville"),  chap,  xxi.,  art.  8. 
The  writer  insists  strongly,  at  the  same  time,  on  the  lord's  responsibility 
to  God  for  his  treatment  of  a  creature  so  helpless. 


260  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

set-off  against  the  Steward  or  Bailiff  in  the  Reeve,  elected 
by  themselves  to  represent  their  interests  before  their 
master;  but  it  will  be  noticed  how  Chaucer  looks  upon 
him  as  the  lord's  servant ;  and  in  "  Piers  Plowman  "  he 
is  even  more  definitely  put  among  the  enemies  of  the 
people,  with  beadles,  sheriffs,  and  "sisours,"  or  jurors.* 
It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  the  general  reliance 
everywhere  on  custom  rather  than  on  written  law,  the 
difference  of  customs  on  various  manors,  and  the  petty 
vexations  constantly  entailed  even  by  those  which  were 
most  certainly  recognized,  bred  constant  discontent 
and  disputes.  The  heavy  fine  which  the  serf  owed  for 
sending  his  son  to  school  fell,  of  course,  only  in  very 
exceptional  cases,  and  may  be  set  off  against  the  few 
who  were  enfranchized  in  order  to  enable  them  to  take 
holy  orders.  But  the  inercliet,  or  fine  paid  for  marriage, 
must  have  been  a  bitter  burden,  while  the  lieriot,  or 
uiortuajy,  is  to  modern  ideas  an  exaction  of  unre- 
deemed iniquity.  In  most  manors,  though  apparently 
not  in  all,  the  lord  claimed  by  this  custom  the  best 
possession  left  by  his  dead  tenant;  and  (so  long  as  he 
had  left  not  less  than  three  head  of  live  stock)  the 
parish  clergyman  claimed  the  second  best.  The  case  of 
a  widow  and  orphans  in  a  struggling  household  is  one 
in  which  no  charity  can  ever  be  misplaced;  yet  here 
their  natural  protectors  were  precisely  those  who  joined 
hands  to  plunder  them ;  and  every  parish  had  its  two 
licensed  wreckers,  who  picked  their  perquisites  from 
the  deathbeds  of  the  poor.f  No  doubt  here,  as  else- 
where, the   strict  law  was  not  always  enforced,  even 

*  "C.  T."  I'rol.,  597  ff.  :  "  P.  I'lowman,"  C,  iii.,  177.  For  the  Reeve's 
duties,  see  Smyth,  "  Berkelcys,"  vol.  ii.,  pp.  5,  22. 

t  "Those  who  demand  such  mortuaries  are  like  worms  preying  on  a 
corpse "  (Cardinal  Jacques  de  Vitry,  quoted  in  Lecoy  de  La  Marche, 
"  Chaire  Fran^aise,"  p.  388).  Having  already,  in  my  "  Medieval  Studies  " 
and  my  "  Priests  and  People,"  dealt  more  fully  with  this  and  several  points 
occurring  in  the  succeeding  chapters,  I  can  often  dispense  with  further 
references  here.  These  exactions,  though  they  had  grown  up  perfectly 
naturally,  were  scarcely  less  resented  by  the  peasants  on  that  account. 


THE  POOR  261 

though  its  enforcement  was  so  definitely  to  the  interest 
of  the  stronger  party ;  self-interest,  apart  from  a  fellow- 
feeling  which  seldom  dies  out  altogether,  prevents  a 
man  from  taxing  even  his  horse  beyond  its  powers ;  but 
there  is  definite  evidence  that  merchets  and  heriots  were 
no  mere  theoretical  grievance.  Moreover,  these  were 
only  the  worst  of  a  hundred  ways  in  which  law  and 
custom  gave  the  lord  a  galling,  and  apparently  un- 
reasonable, hold  upon  the  peasants;  and  they  must 
needs  have  chafed  against  such  a  yoke  as  this  even  if 
their  position  as  domestic  animals  had  been  more 
comfortable  than  it  was.  Let  us  suppose — though  this 
needs  better  proof  than  has  yet  been  advanced — that 
the  serf  was  as  well  fed  and  housed  as  the  modern 
English  labourer;*  suppose  that  he  was  far  more  of  a 
real  man  than  his  legal  status  gave  him  a  right  to  be ; 
then  he  must  only  have  smarted  all  the  more,  we  may 
safely  say,  under  his  beastlike  disabilities.  "  We  are 
men  formed  in  Christ's  likeness,  and  we  are  kept  like 
beasts";  such  are  the  words  which  Froissart  puts  into 
the  serfs'  mouths.  "To  the  sentiment"  (comments  a 
modern  writer)  "there  is  all  the  difference  between 
economic  compulsion,  apparently  the  outcome  of  in- 
evitable conditions,  and  a  legal  dependence  upon 
personal  caprice.  Even  comfortable  circumstances, 
which  he  apparently  enjoyed,  created  in  the  Malmes- 
bury  bondman  no  satisfaction  with  his  lot.  There  is  a 
pathetic  ring  in  the  words  which,  in  his  old  age,  he  is 
recorded  to  have  used,  that  'if  he  might  bring  that  [his 
freedom]  aboute,  it  wold  be  more  joifuU  to  him  than  any 
worlie  goode.'"  Nor  was  this  the  cry  of  a  single  voice 
only,  but  also  of  the  whole  peasantry  of  England  at 
that  moment  of  the  Middle  Ages  when  they  most 
definitely  formulated  their  aims.  "The  rising  of  1381 
sets  it  beyond  doubt  that  the  peasant  had  grasped 
the  conception  of  complete   personal    liberty,   that   he 

*  This  is  admirably  discussed  by  JMr.  Corbett  in  chap.  vii.  of"  Social 
England." 


S62  CHAUCER   AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

held  it  degrading  to  perform  forced  labour,  and  that  he 
considered  freedom  to  be  his  right."  * 

Moreover,  the  general  voice  of  medieval  moralists  is 
here  on  the  peasants'  side.  It  is  true  that  (in  spite  of 
the  frequent  reminders  of  our  common  parentage  in 
Adam  and  Eve)  few  men  of  Chaucer's  day  would  have 
agreed  with  Wycliffe  in  objecting  on  principle  to 
hereditary  bondage;  but  still  fewer  doubted  that  the 
landlords,  as  a  class,  did  in  fact  use  their  power  un- 
mercifully. "How  mad"  (writes  Cardinal  Jacques  de 
Vitry),  "how  mad  are  those  men  who  rejoice  when  sons 
are  born  to  their  lords  !  "  Many  knights  (he  says)  force 
their  serfs  to  labour,  and  give  them  not  even  bread  to 
eat.  When  the  knight  does  call  his  men  together,  as  if 
for  war,  it  is  too  often  only  to  prey  on  the  peasant. 
"  Many  say  nov/adays,  when  they  are  rebuked  for  having 
taken  a  cow  from  a  poor  peasant :  '  Let  it  suffice  the  boor 
that  I  have  left  him  the  calf  and  his  own  life.  I  might 
do  him  far  more  harm  if  I  would  ;  I  have  taken  his  goose, 
but  left  him  the  feathers.' " 

Here,  again,  is  a  still  more  living  picture  from  "  Piers 
Plowman  " — 

"  Then  Peace  came  to  Parliament  and  put  up  a  bill, 
How  that  Wrong  against  his  will  his  wife  had  y-taken 
And  how  he  ravished  Rose,  Reginald's  leman, 
And  Margaret  of  her  maidenhood,  maugre  her  cheeks. 
'  Both  my  geese  and  my  griskins  his  gadlings  fetchen, 
1  dare  not  for  dread  of  him  fight  nor  chide. 
He  borrowed  my  bay  steed,  and  brought  him  never  again, 
Nor  no  farthing  him-for,  for  nought  I  can  plead. 
He  maintaineth  his  men  to  murder  mine  own, 
Forcstalleth  my  fair,  iightcth  in  my  cheapings,  [markets 

Breaketh  up  my  barn-door  and  bcareth  away  my  wheal  ; 
And  taketh  mc  but  a  tally  for  ten  c|uartcr  oaten  ; 
And  yet  he  beat  me  thereto,  and  lieth  by  my  maiden, 
I  am  not  so  hardy  for  him  up  for  to  look.' 
The  King  knew  he  said  sooth,  for  Conscience  him  told." 

That  this  kind  of  thing  was  far  less  common  in  England 

*  Froissart,  Buchon,  ii.,   150.      Leadani,   "Star   Chamber"  (Selden 
Soc),  p.  cxxviii.     Trevelyan,  /.  c,  p.  185. 


THE  POOR  ^63 

than  elsewhere,  we  have  Froissart's  and  other  evidence ; 
but  that  it  was  far  too  common  even  in  Chaucer's 
England  there  is  no  room  whatever  to  doubt.  As  M. 
Jusserand  has  truly  said,  a  dozen  Parliamentary  docu- 
ments justify  the  poet's  complaints;  and  he  quotes  an 
extraordinarily  interesting  case  from  the  actual  petition 
of  the  victims.* 

The  time,   however,  was  yet   unripe   for  such   far- 
reaching  changes    as    the    peasants    demanded.      The 
circumstances  and  incidents  of  their  revolt  have  been 
admirably  described   by  Mr.  Trevelyan,  and   lately   in 
more  detail  by  Prof  Oman ;  and  its  main  events   are 
prominent  in  all  our  histories ;   probably  no  rebellion 
of  such  magnitude  was  ever  so  sudden  in  its  origin  or 
its    end;   all  was   practically  over   in   a  single   month. 
Discontent  had,  of  course,  been  seething  for  years;  yet 
even  so   definite  a  grievance  as  the  Poll  Tax  of  1381 
could  not  have  raised  half  England  in  revolt  within  a 
few  days,  but  for  a  sense  of  power  and  a  rough  dis- 
cipline among  the  working-classes.      For  more  than  a 
century  the  men  who  were  now  so  wronged  had  been 
compelled   to   keep   arms,   to   learn    their  use,   and   to 
muster  periodically  under  captains  of  twenties  and  cap- 
tains of  hundreds.     For  a  whole  generation  Edward  III. 
had   proclaimed,  at   frequent  intervals,   that    he    could 
not  meet  his  enemies  without  a  fresh  levy  from  town 
and  country;  and,  under  a  system  which  allowed  the 
purchase  of  substitutes,  such  levies  fell  heaviest  on  the 
lower  classes.     What  was  more  natural  than  that  these 
same  lower  classes  should  muster  now  to  free  the  King 
from  his  other  enemies — and  theirs  too,  as  they  thought 
— incapable,   bloodsucking   ministers   and    unjust   land- 
lords?   They  had  only  to  turn  out  as  on  a  muster  and 
march   straight  upon  London,  each  village   contingent 
picking  up  others  on  the  way ;  and  this  is  exactly  what 

*  Vitry,  "  Exempla,'"  pp.  62,  64 ;  '•  1 '.  P.,"  A.,  iv.,  34  (cf.  Lecoy.,  /.  c,  387)  ; 
Jusserand,  "Epopee  Mystique,"  114;  and  "Vie  Nomade,"  81,  261, 
269. 


264      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

they  did*  The  chroniclers  definitely  record  their  order 
even  in  disorder ;  it  was  removed  by  a  whole  horizon 
from  the  contemporary  Jacquerie  in  France,  in  which 
the  peasants  rose  like  wild  beasts,  with  no  ideas  but 
plunder,  lust,  and  revenge.  These  English  rebels 
resisted  manfully  at  first  all  temptation  to  plunder 
among  the  rich  houses  of  London.  "  If  they  caught 
any  man  thieving,  they  cut  off  his  head,  as  men  who 
hated  thieves  above  all  things" — such  is  the  testimony 
of  their  bitter  enemy  Walsingham.  When  they  gutted 
John  of  Gaunt's  palace,  nothing  was  kept  of  the  vast 
wealth  which  it  contained ;  all  things  were  treated  as 
accursed,  like  the  spoils  of  Jericho.  The  rioters  were 
loyal  to  the  King,  had  a  definite  policy,  and  aimed  at 
making  treaties  in  due  form  with  their  enemies.  They 
"had  among  themselves  a  watchword  in  English,  'With 
whome  haldes  you  ?  "  and  the  answer  was,  "  With  Kinge 
Richarde  and  the  true  comons.'"  "They  took  [Chief 
Justice  Belknap]  and  made  him  swear  on  the  Bible." 
At  Canterbury  "they  summoned  the  Mayor,  the  bailiffs 
and  the  commons  of  the  said  town,  and  examined  them 
whether  they  would  with  good  will  swear  to  be  faithful 
and  loyal  to  King  Richard  and  to  the  true  commons  of 
England  or  no."  "The  commons,  out  of  good  feeling 
to  [the  King],  sent  back  word  by  his  messengers  that 
they  wished  to  see  him  and  speak  with  him  at  Black- 
heath."  At  Mile  End  they  were  arrayed  under  "  two 
banners,  and  many  pennons,"  drew  out  willingly  into 
two  lines  at  Richard's  bidding,  and  made  an  orderly 
bargain  with  him.  In  the  final  meeting  at  Smithfield, 
"the  king  and  his  train  ,  .  .  turned  into  the  eastern 
meadow  in  front  of  St.  Bartholomew's  .  .  .  and  the 
commons  arrayed  themselves  on  the  west  side  in  great 
battles."  After  Tyler's  death,  again,  they  followed  at 
Richard's  command  into  Clerkenwell  fields,  where  they 

*  Walbingham,  an.  1381  ;  cf.  tlie  record  in  rouell,  "Rising  in  East 
Anglia,"  p.  130.  The  rioters  compelled  the  constable  of  the  hundred  of 
Hoxne  to  contribute  ten  conscripted  archers  to  their  party. 


THE  rOOR  ^65 

were  presently  surrounded  partly  by  the  mercenary 
troopers  of  Sir  Robert  Knolles,  but  mainly  by  the 
citizen  levies,  "the  wards  arrayed  in  bands,  a  fine  com- 
pany of  well-armed  folks  in  great  strength."  The  very 
suddenness  of  their  collapse  is  not  only  perfectly  ex- 
plicable under  these  circumstances,  but  it  is  just  what 
we  might  expect  in  a  case  where  the  conflicting  parties 
have  learnt,  under  some  sort  of  common  discipline, 
the  priceless  lesson  of  give  and  take,  and  can  see  some 
reason  in  each  other's  claims;  the  Cronstadt  Mutiny 
is  the  latest  example  of  this,  and  perhaps  not  the  least 
instructive.*  Their  main  claims  had  been  granted  by 
the  King,  and,  in  proportion  as  the  rioters  were  loyal 
and  orderly  at  heart,  in  the  same  proportion  they 
must  have  seen  clearly  that  Wat  Tyler's  fate  had  been 
thoroughly  deserved.  No  wonder  that  they  cowered 
now  before  the  King  and  his  troops,  and  dispersed 
peaceably  to  their  homes.  Even  Walsingham's  satirical 
account  of  their  arms,  with  due  allowance  for  literary 
exaggeration,  is  exactly  what  the  most  formal  docu- 
ments would  lead  us  to  expect.  "  The  vilest  of  commons 
and  peasants,"  he  says;  "some  of  whom  had  only 
cudgels,  some  rusty  swords,  some  only  axes,  some  bows 
that  had  hung  so  long  in  the  smoke  as  to  be  browner 
than  ancient  ivory,  with  one  arrow  apiece,  many  whereof 
had  but  one  wing.  .  .  .  Among  a  thousand  such,  you 
would  scarce  have  found  one  man  that  wore  armour."  t 
Compare  this  with  the  actual  muster-roll  of  a  Norwich 
leet,  a  far  richer  community  than  these  villages  from 
which  most  of  the  rebels  came  (Conesford,  a.d.  1355). 
Out  of  the  192  mustered,  33  wear  defensive  armour; 
7  only  are  archers  (an  unusually  small  proportion,  of 

*  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  loyal  soldiers  also  had  shown  in 
this  matter  a  pusillanimity  which  contrasted  remarkably  with  their 
behaviour  in  the  French  wars  ;  Walsingham  notes  this  with  great 
astonishment.  The  quotations  are  from  the  "  Chronicle  of  St.  Mary's, 
York,'"  in  Oman,  Appendix  \'.,  pp.  1S8-200. 

t  An.  1381  ;  cf.  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  353.  The  original  of  both  these 
descriptions  seems  to  be  Gower,  "  Vox  Clam."  i.,  853  ft". 


266  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

course) ;  44  turn  out  with  knife,  sword,  and  bill  or 
hatchet;  108  have  only  two  weapons,  which  in  nine  out 
of  ten  cases  consist  of  knife  and  cudgel.  The  rioters, 
of  course,  would  in  most  cases  have  come  from  this 
lowest  class;  and  in  reading  through  the  Norwich  lists 
one  seems  to  see  the  very  men  who  followed  after  John 
Ball.  "  Thomas  Pottage,  with  knife  and  cudgel "; 
"William  Mouse,  with  knife  and  cudgel";  "Long  John, 
with  knife  and  cudgel";  "Adam  Piper  and  Robert  Skut, 
with  knife  and  bill";  "John  Cosy,  Hamo  Garlicman, 
Robert  Rubbleyard,  John  Stutter,  Roger  Dauber, 
William  Boardcleaver,  William  Merrygo,  Nicholas  Skip, 
Alice  Brokedish's  Servant," — all  with  knife  and  cudgel 
again.  Gower's  mock-heroic  catalogue  of  the  rioters' 
names  in  the  first  book  of  his  "Vox  Clamantis"  is  not 
so  picturesque  as  these  actual  muster-rolls. 

These,  then,  were  the  men  before  whose  face  Cower 
describes  his  fellow-landlords  as  lurking  like  wild  beasts 
in  the  woods,  feeding  on  grass  and  acorns,  and  wishing 
that  they  could  shrink  within  the  very  rind  of  the  trees ; 
the  men  who  a  day  or  two  later  surged  like  a  sea  round 
Chaucer's  tower  of  Aldgate,  until  some  accomplice 
unbarred  the  gate.  Chroniclers  note  with  astonishment 
the  paralysis  of  the  upper  classes  all  through  this  revolt, 
or  at  least  until  Wat  Tyler's  death;  and  though  Richard 
revoked  his  Royal  promise  of  freedom,  and  bloody 
assizes  were  held  from  county  to  county  until  the 
country  was  sick  of  slaughter,  and  Parliament  re-enacted 
all  the  old  oppressive  statutes,  yet  the  landlords  can 
never  entirely  have  forgotten  this  lesson.  Professor 
Oman,  in  his  anxiety  to  kill  the  already  slain  theory  that 
the  Revolt  virtually  put  an  end  to  serfdom,  seems  hardly 
to  allow  enough  for  human  nature;  but  Mr.  Trevelyan 
sums  the  matter  up  in  words  as  just  as  they  are 
eloquent:  "[The  Revolt]  was  a  sign  of  national  energy, 
it  was  a  sign  of  independence  and  self-respect  in  the 
medieval  peasants,  from  whom  three-quarters  of  our 
race,  of  all  classes  and  in  every  continent,  are  descended. 


THE   POOR  267 

This  independent  spirit  was  not  lacking  in  France  in 
the  14th  century,  but  it  died  out  by  the  end  of  the 
Hundred  Years'  War;  stupid  resignation  then  took 
hold  of  burghers  and  peasantry  alike,  from  the  days 
when  Machiavelli  observed  their  torpor,  down  to  the 
eve  of  the  Revolution.  The  ancien  regime  was  permitted 
to  grow  up,  -But  in  England  there  has  been  a  con- 
tinuous spirit  of  resistance  and  independence,  so  that 
wherever  our  countrymen  or  our  kinsmen  have  gone, 
they  have  taken  with  them  the  undying  tradition  of  the 
best  and  surest  freedom,  which  'slowly  broadens  down 
from  precedent  to  precedent.'"* 

This  chapter  could  not  be  complete  without  at 
least  a  passing  allusion  to  the  general  uncleanliness 
of  medieval  life,  even  in  a  city  like  London,  where 
there  was  some  real  attempt  at  organized  scavenging 
of  the  streets,  and  where  the  laws  commanded  strictly 
"he  that  will  keep  a  pig,  let  him  keep  it  in  his  own 
house."  t  Four  great  visitations  of  the  bubonic  plague 
occurred  in  Chaucer's  lifetime;  the  least  of  them  would 
have  been  enough  to  mark  an  epoch  in  modern  England. 
The  sixty  years  of  his  life  are  exceptional,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  their  comparative  freedom  from  severe  famine ; 
but  there  hung  always  over  men's  lives  the  shadow  of 
God's  hand — or  rather,  as  they  too  often  felt,  of  Satan's. 
During  the  great  storm  of  1362  "beasts,  trees  and 
housen  were  all  to-smit  with  violent  lightning,  and 
suddenly  perished;  and  the  Devil  in  man's  likeness 
spake  to  men  going  by  the  way";  and  a  good  herald 
who  watched  the  march  past  of  the  rioters  in  1381  "saw 
several  Devils  among  them ;  he  fell  sick  and  died  within 
a  brief  while  afterwards."  % 

It  has  often  been  noted  how  little  Chaucer  refers 

*  L.  c,  p.  255. 

t  The  first  general  Sanitation  Act  for  England  was  that  of  the 
Parliament  held  at  Cambridge  in  1388,  and  is  generally  ascribed  to  the 
filth  of  that  ancient  borough. 

X  "  Chronicles  of  London  "  (4to.,  1827),  p.  65.    "  Eulog.  Hist."  iii.,  353. 


268  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

either  to  this  Revolt  or  the  Great  Pestilence;  but  the 
multitude  interested  him  comparatively  little.  He  felt 
with  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  the  individual  poor 
man ;  but  with  regard  to  the  poor  in  bulk,  he  would 
only  have  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  "they  are 
always  with  us."  His  Griselda  is  own  sister  to  King 
Cophetua's  beggar-maid  in  the  Burne-Jones  picture. 
For  all  the  real  pathos  of  the  story,  her  rags  are 
draped  with  every  refinement  of  consummate  art.  We 
believe  in  them  conventionally,  but  know  on  reflection 
that  they  are  there  only  to  point  an  artistic  contrast. 
Again,  in  the  "  Nuns'  Priest's  Tale  "  the  "  poure  wydwe, 
somdel  stope  in  age,"  with  her  smoky  cottage  and 
the  humble  stock  of  her  yard,  are  just  the  subdued 
and  tender  background  which  the  poet  needs  for  the 
mock-chivalric  glories  of  his  Chanticleer  and  Partlet. 
For  glimpses  of  the  real  poor,  the  poor  poor,  we 
must  go  to  "Piers  Plowman."  Here  we  find  them  of 
all  sorts,  and  at  the  top  of  the  scale  the  Plowman, 
the  skilled  agricultural  labourer  or  almost  peasant- 
farmer — 

"  I  have  no  penny,  quoth  Piers,  pullets  for  to  buy, 
Neither  goose  nor  griskin  ;  but  two  green  cheeses  [new 

A  few  curds  and  cream,  and  a  cake  of  oats, 
And  bread  for  my  bairns  of  beans  and  of  peases. 
And  yet  I  say,  by  my  soul,  I  have  no  salt  bacon  ; 
Not  a  cockney,  by  Christ,  collops  to  make,     [egg  :  eggs  and  bacon 
But  I  have  leek-plants,  parsley  and  shallots, 

Chiboles  and  chervils  and  cherries,  half-red  .  .  .  [onions 

By  this  livelihood  we  must  live  till  Lammas-time, 
And  by  that  I  hope  to  have  harvest  in  my  croft, 
Then  may  I  dight  my  dinner  as  me  dearly  liketh." 

Piers  speaks  here  of  a  bad  year;  but  even  his  modest 
comfort  required  hard  work  of  all  kinds  and  in  all 
weathers.     As  the  Ploughman  says  in  another  place — 

"  I  have  been  Truth's  servant  all  this  fifty  winter, 
Both  y-sowen  his  seed  and  sued  his  beasts. 
Within  and  withouten  waited  his  profits. 
I  dike  and  I  delve,  I  do  what  Truth  biddeth  ; 


THE  POOR  269 

Some  time  I  sow  and  some  time  I  thresh, 

In  tailor's  craft  and  tinker's  craft,  what  Truth  can  devise, 

I  weave  and  I  wind,  and  do  what  Truth  biddeth."  * 

In  contrast  with  Piers  stands  tlie  great  crowd  of 
beggars — soldiers  discharged  from  the  wars,  and  sturdy 
vagrants  who  fear  nothing  but  labour — "  beggars  with 
bags,  which  brewhouses  be  their  churches,"  as  the  poet 
writes  in  the  racy  style  affected  in  modern  times  by 
Mrs.  Gamp.  The  roads  were  crowded  with  wandering 
minstrels  "  that  will  neither  swink  nor  sweat,  but  swear 
great  oaths,  and  find  up  foul  fantasies,  and  fools  them 
maken  ;  and  yet  have  wit  at  will  to  work,  if  they  would." 
Lowest  of  all  (except  the  outlaws  and  felons  who  haunt 
the  thickets  and  forests)  come  the  professional  tramps — 

"  For  they  live  in  no  love,  nor  no  law  they  holden. 
They  wed  no  woman  wherewith  they  dealen, 
Bring  forth  bastards,  beggars  of  kind. 
Or  the  back  or  some  bone  they  breaken  of  their  children. 
And  go  feigning  with  their  infants  for  evermore  after. 
There  are  more  misshapen  men  among  such  beggars 
Than  of  many  other  men  that  on  this  mould  walken." 

But  the  Great  Pestilence  had  bred  yet  another  class 
odious  to  Piers  Plowman — strikers,  as  they  would  be 
called  in  modern  English — the  men  who  thought  their 
labour  was  worth  more  than  the  miserable  price  at 
which  Parliament  was  constantly  trying  to  fix  it  under 
the  heaviest  penalties.  These  were  they  of  whom  the 
Commons  complained  in  1376  that  "they  contrive  by 
great  malice  prepense  to  evade  the  penalty  of  the 
aforesaid  Ordinances  and  Statutes;  for  so  soon  as 
their  masters  chide  them  for  evil  service,  or  would 
fain  pay  them  for  their  aforesaid  service  according  to 
the  form  of  the  said  Statutes,  suddenly  they  flee  and 
disperse  away  from  their  service  and  from  their  own 
district,    from    county    to    county,    from    hundred    to 

*  C,  ix.,  304  ;  B.,  v.,  549.  It  will  be  noted  how  nearly  this  diet 
accords  with  that  of  the  widow  and  her  daughter  in  Chaucer's  "  Nuns' 
Priest's  Tale"  ;  cf.  Langlois,  "La  Vie  en  France  au  M-A.,"  p.  122. 


270  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

hundred,  from  town  to  town,  into  strange  places  un- 
known to  their  said  masters,  who  know  not  where  to 
find  them.  .  .  .  And  the  greater  part  of  such  runaway 
labourers  become  commonly  stout  thieves,  wherefrom 
robberies  and  felonies  increase  everywhere  from  day 
to  day,  to  the  destruction  of  the  aforesaid  realm."* 
The  worst  effect  of  a  law  which  attempted  to  fix 
wages  everywhere  and  chain  the  labourer  to  one 
master  or  one  parish,  was  to  drive  into  rebellion  in- 
discriminately the  honest  man  who  wanted  to  sell  his 
work  in  an  open  market,  and  the  idler  who  was  glad 
to  escape  in  company  with  his  betters.  No  doubt  there 
was  a  half-truth  in  the  satire  on  the  pretensions  of 
these  labourers  for  whom  the  old  wages  no  longer 
sufficed,  and  who,  in  spite  of  the  law,  often  managed 
to  enforce  their  claim — 

"  Labourers  that  have  no  land  to  live  on,  but  their  hands, 
Deigned  not  to  dine  to-day  on  last  night's  cabbage  ; 
May  no  penny-ale  please  them,  nor  a  piece  of  bacon, 
But  it  be  fresh  flesh  or  fish,  fried  or  y-baken. 
And  that  chaiui  and  plus  chaitd  for  the  chill  of  their  maw." 

But  sometimes  the  law  too  had  its  way ;  and  for  3'ears 
before  the  Great  Revolt  the  countryside  swarmed  with 
such  Statute-made  malefactors,  together  with  those  other 
outcasts  so  graphically  described  in  Jusserand's  "Vie 
Nomade"  (Pt.  II.,  c.  2). 

Meanwhile  there  lived  and  died,  in  the  background, 
the  thousands  who,  for  all  their  honest  toil,  struggled 
on  daily  from  hand  to  mouth,  knowing  no  Bible  truth 
more  true  than  this,  that  God  had  cursed  the  ground 
for  Adam's  sake.  These  are  the  true  poor — "God's 
minstrels,"  as  they  are  called  in  "Piers  Plowman"; 
those  upon  whom  our  alms  cannot  possibly  be  ill- 
spent — 

"  The  most  needy  are  our  neighbours,  an  we  take  good  heed, 
As  prisoners  in  pits  and  poor  folk  in  cotes 
Charged  with  children  and  chief  lordcs  rent  ; 

*  "  Rot.  Pari."  ii.,  340.  t  L.  c,  C,  i\.,  331. 


THE   POOR  271 

That  they  with  spinning  may  spare,  spend  they  it  in  house-hire, 

Both  in  milk  and  in  meal  to  make  therewith  papelots 

To  glut  therewith  their  children  that  cry  after  food. 

Also  themselves  suffer  much  hunger, 

And  woe  in  wintertime,  with  waking  a-nights 

To  rise  to  the  ruel  to  rock  the  cradle  .  .  . 

Both  to  card  and  to  comb,  to  clout  and  to  wash 

To  rub  and  to  reel,  and  rushes  to  peel. 

That  ruth  is  to  read,  or  in  rime  to  show 

The  woe  of  these  women  that  woneth  in  cotes  ; 

And  many  other  men  that  much  woe  suffren, 

Both  a-hungered  and  athirst,  to  turn  the  fair  side  outward, 

And  be  abashed  for  to  beg,  and  will  not  be  a-known 

What  them  needeth  to  their  neighbours  at  noon  and  at  even. 

This  I  wot  witterly,  as  the  world  teacheth. 

What  other  men  behoveth  that  have  many  children 

And  have  no  chattels  but  their  craft  to  clothe  them  and  to  feed 

And  fele  to  fong  thereto,  and  few  pence  taken. 

There  is  payn  and  penny-ale  as  for  a  pittance  y-taken. 

Cold  flesh  and  cold  fish  for  venison  y-baken  ; 

Fridays  and  fasting-days,  a  farthing's  worth  of  mussels 

Were  a  feast  for  such  folk,  or  so  many  cockles."* 

How  many  such  cottages  did  Chaucer,  like  ourselves, 
pass  on  his  ride  to  Canterbury?  In  all  ages  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  very  poor  have  been  limited  only  by  the 
bounds  of  that  which  flesh  and  blood  can  endure. 

*  L.  c,  C,  X.,  71  fif.  "Papelots"  =  porridge;  "ruel"  =  bedside; 
"woneth"  =  dwell;  "witterly"  =  surely;  "and  fele  to  fong,"  etc. 
=  "  and  many  [children]  to  clutch  at  the  few  pence  they  earn ;  under 
those  circumstances,  bread  and  small  beer  is  held  an  unusual  luxury." 
"  Pittance  "  is  a  monastic  word,  meaning  extra  food  beyond  the  daily 
fare. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

MERRY   ENGLAND 

"  In  the  holidays  all  the  summer  the  youths  are  exercised  in  leaping 
dancing,  shooting,  wrestling,  casting  the  stone,  and  practising  their 
shields  ;  the  maidens  trip  in  their  timbrels,  and  dance  as  long  as  they 
can  well  see.  In  winter,  every  holiday  before  dinner,  the  boars  prepared 
for  brawn  are  set  to  fight,  or  else  bulls  and  bears  are  baited.  When  the 
great  fen,  or  moor,  which  watereth  the  walls  of  the  city  on  the  north  side, 
is  frozen,  many  young  men  play  upon  the  ice  ;  some,  striding  as  wide  as 
they  may,  do  slide  swiftly  ;  others  make  themselves  seats  of  ice,  as  great 
as  millstones  ;  one  sits  down,  many  hand  in  hand  to  draw  him,  and  one 
slipping  on  a  sudden,  all  fall  together  ;  some  tie  bones  to  their  feet  and 
under  their  heels  ;  and  shoving  themselves  by  a  little  piked  staff,  do  slide 
as  swiftly  as  a  bird  flieth  in  the  air,  or  an  arrow  out  of  a  cross-bow. 
Sometime  two  run  together  with  poles,  and  hitting  one  the  other,  cither 
one  or  both  do  fall,  not  without  hurt  ;  some  break  their  arms,  some  their 
legs,  but  youth  desirous  of  glory  in  this  sort  exerciseth  itself  against  the 
time  of  war.'' — Fitzstephen's  "Description  of  London,"  translated  by 
John  Stow. 

WHERE  in  the  meantime  was  Merry  England?  In 
the  sense  in  which  the  phrase  is  often  used,  as  a 
mere  political  or  social  catchword,  it  lay  for  Chaucer,  as 
for  us,  in  the  haze  of  an  imaginary  past.  Englishmen 
were  even  then  more  fortunate  in  their  lot  than  many 
continental  nations ;  but  they  had  already  serious 
responsibilities  to  bear.  The  glory  of  that  age  lies  less 
in  thoughtless  merrymaking  than  in  a  brave  and  steady 
struggle — with  the  elements,  with  circumstances,  and 
with  fellow-man.  Even  in  Chaucer's  time  Englishmen 
took  their  pleasures  sadly  in  comparison  with  French- 
men and  Italians.  We  cannot  say  that  our  forefathers 
enjoyed  life  less  than  we  do,  but  we  can  certainly  say 
that  theirs  was  a  life  which  we  could  enjoy  only  after 
a    process  of  acclimatization ;    and  they   lacked   almost 


MERRY  ENGLAND  273 

altogether  one  of  the  most  valued  privileges  of  modern 
civilization — the  undisturbed  conduct  of  our  own  little 
house  and  our  own  small  afifairs,  the  established  peace 
and  order  under  cover  of  which  even  an  artisan  may 
now  pursue  his  own  hobbies  with  a  sense  of  personal 
independence  and  a  tranquil  certitude  of  the  morrow 
for  which  Roger  Bacon  would  cheerfully  have  sacrificed 
a  hand  or  an  eye.  Such  tranquillity  might  conceivably 
be  bought  at  the  price  of  nobler  virtues,  but  it  is  in 
itself  one  of  the  most  justly  prized  conquests  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  we  may  seek  it  vainly  in  our  past. 

However,  as  life  was  undoubtedly  more  picturesque 
in  the  14th  century,  so  the  enjoyment  also  was  more 
on  the  surface.  Fitzstephen's  brief  catalogue  of  the 
Londoners'  relaxations  is  charming ;  and,  even  when  we 
have  made  all  allowance  for  the  poetical  colours  lavished 
by  an  antiquary  who  saw  everything  through  a  haze  of 
distant  memory  and  regret,  Stow's  descriptions  of  city 
merrymakings  are  among  the  most  delightful  pages  of 
history.  Hours  of  labour  were  long,*  and  for  village 
folk  there  was  no  great  choice  of  amusements ;  yet 
there  is  a  whole  world  of  delight  to  be  found  in  the 
most  elementary  field  sports.  Moreover,  the  most 
expansive  enjoyment  is  often  natural  to  those  who  have 
otherwise  least  freedom ;  witness  the  bank-holiday 
excitement  of  our  own  days  and  the  negro  passion  for 
song  and  dance.  The  holy-days  on  which  the  Church 
forbade  work  amounted  to  something  like  one  a  week  ; 
and  though  there  are  frequent  complaints  that  these 
were  ill  kept,  equally  widespread  and  emphatic  is  the 
testimony  to  noisy  merriment  on  them ;  they  bred 
more  drunkenness  and  crime,  we  are  assured  by  anxious 

*  An  Act  of  1495  provided  that  "from  the  middle  of  March  to  the 
middle  of  September  work  was  to  go  on  from  5  a.m.  till  between  7  and 
8  p.m.,  with  half  an  hour  for  breakfast,  and  an  hour  and  a  half  for 
dinner  and  for  the  midday  sleep.  In  winter  work  was  to  be  during  day- 
light. These  legal  ordinances  were  not  perhaps  always  kept,  but  they 
at  least  show  the  standard  at  which  employers  aimed "  ("  Social 
England,"  vol.  ii.,  chap.  vii.). 
T 


274  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

Churchmen,  than  all  the  rest  of  the  year.*  Indeed,  it  is 
from  judicial  records  that  we  may  glean  by  far  the 
fullest  details  about  the  games  of  our  ancestors ;  and  a 
brilliant  archivist  like  Simeon  Luce,  when  he  undertakes 
to  give  a  picture  of  popular  games  in  the  France  of 
Chaucer's  day,  draws  almost  exclusively  on  Royal 
proclamations  and  court  rolls.f 

From  the  Universities,  sacred  haunts  of  modern 
athleticism,  down  to  the  smallest  country  parish,  we 
get  the  same  picture  of  sports  flourishing  under  con- 
siderable discouragement  from  the  powers  in  being, 
but  flourishing  all  the  same,  and  taking  a  still  more 
boisterous  tinge  from  the  injudicious  attempts  to 
suppress  them  altogether.  "Alike  in  the  Universities 
and  out  of  them,"  writes  Dr.  Rashdall  on  the  subject  of 
games,  "  the  asceticism  of  the  medieval  ideal  provoked 
and  fostered  the  wildest  indulgence  in  actual  life."  Even 
chess  was  among  the  "  noxious,  inordinate,  and  unhonest 
games"  expressly  forbidden  to  the  scholars  of  New 
College  by  William  of  Wykeham's  Statutes,!  and  indeed 
throughout  the  Middle  Ages  this  was  a  pastime  which 
led  to  more  gambling  and  quarrels  than  most  others. 
A  very  curious  quarrel  at  cudgel-play  outside  the  walls 
of  Oxford  is  recorded  in  the  "  Munimenta  Academica" 
(Rolls  Series,  p.  526).  At  Cambridge  it  was  forbidden 
under  penalty  of  forty  pence  to  play  tennis  in  the  town. 
At  Oxford  we  find  four  citizens  compelled  to  abjure  the 
same  game  solemnly  before  the  vice-chancellor;  and 
readers  both  of  Froissart  and  of  the  preface  to  "  Ivanhoe  " 
will  remember  violent  feuds  arising  from  it.§     In  1446 

*  Bishop  Grosseteste  asserted  that  honest  labour  on  holy  days  would 
be  far  less  sinful  than  the  sports  which  often  took  their  place.  *'  Epp.'' 
(R.S.),  p.  74- 

t  "La  France  pendant  la  Guerre  de  Cent  Ans"  (1890),  95  ff.  The 
essay  describes  a  state  of  things  very  similar  to  what  we  may  gather 
from  English  records. 

X  "  Universities  of  Europe,"  ii.,  669  ff. 

§  Cooper,  "  Annals  of  Cambridge,"  an.  1410  ;  "  Munim.  Acad."  (R.S.), 
602  ;  Riley,  571  ;  Strutt  (1898),  p.  49. 


MERRY   ENGLAND  275 

the  Bishop  of  Exeter,  while  pleading  that  he  has  always 
kept  open  the  doors  of  the  cathedral  cloisters  at  all 
reasonable  times,  adds,  "at  which  times,  and  in  especial 
in  time  of  divine  service,  ungodly-ruled  people  (most 
customably  young  people  of  the  said  Commonalty) 
within  the  said  cloister  have  exercised  unlawful  games, 
as  the  top,  queke,  penny-prick,  and  most  at  tennis,  by 
the  which  all  the  walls  of  the  said  cloister  have  been 
defouled  and  the  glass  windows  all  to-burst."  * 

As  early  as  13 14,  the  laws  of  London  forbade  playing 
at  football  in  the  fields  near  the  city  ;  and  this  was  among 
the  games  which,  by  Royal  proclamation  of  1363,  were 
to  give  place  to  the  all-important  sport  of  archery. 
Others  forbidden  at  the  same  time  were  quoits,  throwing 
the  hammer,  hand-ball,  club-ball,  and  golf.  Indeed, 
from  this  ancient  and  royal  game  down  to  leap-frog  and 
"  conquerors,"  nearly  all  our  present  sports  were  familiar, 
in  more  or  less  developed  forms,  to  our  ancestors.  In 
1332,  Edward  III.  had  to  proclaim  "let  no  boy  or  other 
person,  under  pain  of  imprisonment,  play  in  any  part  of 
Westminster  Palace,  during  the  Parliament  now  sum- 
moned, at  bars  [i.e.  prisoners'  base]  or  other  games,  or 
at  snatch-hood";  and  John  Myrc  instructs  the  parish 
clergy  to  forbid  to  their  parishioners  in  general  all 
"casting  of  ax-tree  and  eke  of  stone  .  .  .  ball  and  bars 
and  suchlike  play"  in  the  churchyard. f  Wrestling, 
again,  was  among  the  most  popular  sports,  and  one  of 
those  which  gave  most  trouble  to  coroners.  The  two 
great  wrestling  matches  in  1222  between  the  citizens  of 
London  and  the  suburbans  ended  in  a  riot  which  assumed 
almost  the  dignity  of  a  rebellion.  Fatal  wrestling-bouts, 
like  fatal  games  of  chess,  are  among  the  stock  incidents 
of  medieval  romance ;  whether  the  enemy  was  to  be  got 
rid  of  through  the  hands  of  a  professional  champion  (as 

*  "  Shillingford  Letters,"  p.  loi.  Queke  was  probably  a  kind  of  hop- 
scotch, and  penny-prick  a  tossing  game  ;  both  enjoyed  an  evil  repute, 
according  to  Strutt. 

t  "  Rot.  Pari."  ii.,  64  ;  Myrc,  E.E.T.S.,  i.,  334. 


276  CHAUCER  AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

in  the  quasi-Chaucerian  "  Tale  of  Gamelyn ")  or  by. 
such  foul  play  as  is  described  in  the  Pardoner's  Tale — 

Arise,  as  though  thou  wouldest  with  him  play, 
And  I  shall  rive  him  through  the  sides  way. 
While  that  thou  struggles!  with  him  as  in  game  ; 
And  with  thy  dagger  look  thou  do  the  same. 

Moreover,  the  same  tragedy  might  only  too  easily  be 
played  unintentionally,  as  in  the  ballad  of  the  "Two 
Brothers  " — 

They  warsled  up,  they  warsled  down 

Till  John  fell  to  the  ground  ; 
A  dirk  fell  out  of  Willie's  pouch, 

And  gave  him  a  deadly  wound. 

Or,  as  it  is  recorded  in  the  business-like  prose  of  an 
assize-roll :  "  Richard  of  Horsley  was  playing  and 
wrestling  with  John  the  Miller  of  Tutlington ;  and  by 
mishap  his  knife  fell  from  its  sheath  and  wounded  the 
aforesaid  John  without  the  aforesaid  Richard's  know- 
ledge, so  that  he  died.  And  the  aforesaid  Richard  fled 
and  is  not  suspected  of  the  death ;  let  him  therefore 
return  if  he  will,  but  let  his  chattels  be  confiscated  for 
his  flight.  (N.B.  He  has  no  chattels)."  *  In  this  same 
assize-roll,  out  of  forty-three  accidental  deaths,  three 
were  due  to  village  games,  and  three  more  to  sticks  or 
stones  aimed  respectively  at  a  cock,  a  dog,  and  a  pig, 
but  finding  their  fatal  billet  in  a  human  life.  Ecclesi- 
astical disciplinarians  endeavoured  frequently,  but  with 
indifferent  success,  to  put  down  the  practice  of  wrestling 
in  churchyards,  with  the  scarcely  less  turbulent  miracle- 
plays  or  dances,  and  the  markets  which  so  frequently 
stained  the  holy  ground  with  blood.  Even  the  State 
interfered  in  the  matter  of  churchyard  fairs  and  markets 
"for  the  honour  of  Holy  Church";  but  they  went  on 

*  "  Northumberland  Assize  Rolls,"  p.  323.  There  is  another  fatal 
wrestling-bout  in  the  same  roll  (p.  348),  another  in  the  similar  Norfolk 
roll  analysed  by  Mr.  Walter  Rye  in  the  Archcrological  Review  {v%Z%)^  and 
another  exactly  answering  to  John  and  Willie's  case  in  Prof.  Maitland's 
"  Crown  Pleas  for  the  County  of  Gloucester,''  No.  452. 


MERRY  ENGLAND  277 

gaily  as  before.  Dances,  as  I  have  already  had  occasion 
to  note,  were  condemned  with  a  violence  which  is  only 
partially  explained  even  by  Chaucer's  illuminating  lines 
about  the  Parish  Clerk — 

In  twenty  manners  could  he  skip  and  dance, 
(After  the  School  of  Oxenforde,  though,) 
And  with  his  legges  casten  to  and  fro.* 

To  quote  here  again  from  Dr.  Rashdall,  "William  of 
Wykeham  found  it  necessary  for  the  protection  of  the 
sculpture  in  the  Chapel  reredos  to  make  a  Statute 
against  dancing  or  jumping  in  the  Chapel  or  adjoining 
Hall.  His  language  is  suggestive  of  that  untranslatable 
amusement  now  known  as  '  ragging,'  which  has  no 
doubt  formed  a  large  part  of  the  relaxation  of  students — 
at  least  of  English  students — in  all  ages.  At  the  same 
College  there  is  a  comprehensive  prohibition  of  all 
'  struggling,  chorus-singing,  dancing,  leaping,  singing, 
shouting,  tumult  and  inordinate  noise,  pouring  forth  of 
water,  beer,  and  all  other  liquids  and  tumultuous  games  ' 
in  the  Hall,  on  the  ground  that  they  were  likely  to 
disturb  the  occupants  of  the  Chaplain's  chamber  below. 
A  moderate  indulgence  in  some  of  the  more  harmless  of 
these  pastimes  in  other  places  seems  to  be  permitted."! 
In  this,  the  good  bishop  was  only  following  the  very 
necessary  precedent  of  many  prelates  before  him.  As 
early  as  1223,  when  the  reform  of  the  friars  had  stimu- 
lated a  great  effort  to  put  down  old  abuses  throughout 
the  Church,  Bishop  Poore  of  Salisbury  and  his  diocesan 
council  decreed  "we  forbid  the  holding  of  dances,  or 
base  and  unhonest  games  which  provoke  to  lascivious- 
ness,  in  the  churchyard.  .  .  .  We  forbid  the  proclaiming 
of  scot-ales  in  church  by  layfolk,  or  by  priests  or  clerks 

*  "  C.  T.,"  A.,  3328.  Etienne  de  Bourbon  has  no  doubt  that  "  the  Devil 
invented  dancing,  and  is  governor  and  procurator  of  dancers  " ;  and  he 
explains  the  popular  proverb,  that  God's  thunderbolt  falls  oftener  on  the 
church  than  on  the  tavern,  by  the  notorious  profanations  to  which 
churches  were  subjected.     ("  Anecdotes,"  pp.  269,  397.) 

t  L.  c.  ii.,  672. 


278  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

either  in  or  without  the  church."  Similar  prohibitions 
are  repeated  by  later  councils  with  an  emphasis  which 
only  shows  their  inefficiency.  The  University  of  Oxford 
complained  to  Henry  V.  in  1414  that  fairs  and  markets 
were  held  "  more  frequently  than  ever  "  on  consecrated 
ground;  and  the  Visitation  of  15 19  among  churches 
appropriated  to  York  Cathedral  elicited  the  fact  that 
football  and  similar  games  were  carried  on  in  two  of  the 
churchyards.  These  holy  places  sometimes  witnessed 
rougher  sports  still ;  especially  cathedral  cemeteries 
during  the  great  processions  of  the  ecclesiastical  year. 
"  Moreover,"  writes  Bishop  Grosseteste  in  a  circular 
letter  to  all  his  archdeacons,  "cause  it  to  be  proclaimed 
strictly  in  every  church  that,  when  the  parishes  come 
in  procession  for  the  yearly  visitation  and  homage  to 
the  Cathedral  church,  no  parish  shall  struggle  to  press 
before  another  parish  with  its  banners ;  since  from  this 
source  not  only  quarrels  are  wont  to  spring,  but  cruel 
bloodshed."  Bishop  Giffard  of  Worcester  was  com- 
pelled for  the  same  reason  to  proclaim  in  every  church 
of  his  diocese  **  that  no  one  shall  join  in  the  Pentecostal 
processions  with  a  sword  or  other  kind  of  arms"  ;  and 
a  similar  prohibition  in  the  diocese  of  Ely  (1364)  is  based 
on  the  complaint  that  "both  fights  and  deaths  are  wont 
to  result  therefrom."  Even  more  were  the  minds  of  the 
best  clergy  exercised  by  the  corpse-wakes  in  churches, 
which  "  turned  the  house  of  mourning  and  prayer  into 
a  house  of  laughter  and  excess";  and  again  by  "the 
execrable  custom  of  keeping  the  '  Eeast  of  Fools,'  which 
obtains  in  some  churches,"  and  which  "profanes  the 
sacred  anniversary  of  the  Lord's  Circumcision  with  the 
filth  of  lustful  pleasures";  yet  here  again  the  tenacity  of 
popular  custom  baffled  even  the  most  vigorous  prelates.* 
We  must  not  pass  away  from  popular  amusements 
without  one  glance  at  these  above-mentioned  scot-ales, 

•  Wilkins,  "Concilia,"  i.,  600  ;  iii.,  61,  68,  365  ;  "  York  Fabric  Rolls," 
269  ff;  Grosseteste,  "  Epp."  (K.S.),  pp.  75,  118,  161  ;  Giffard's  "  Register  " 
(Worcester),  p.  422  ;  and  Cutts,  "  Parish  Priests,"  p.  122. 


MERRY  ENGLAND  279 

which  were  probably  relics  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  semi- 
religious  drinking-bouts.  In  the  later  Middle  Ages 
they  appear  as  forerunners  of  the  modern  bazaar  or 
religious  tea ;  a  highly  successful  device  for  raising 
money  contributions  by  an  appeal  to  the  convivial 
instincts  of  a  whole  parish  or  district.  In  the  early 
13th  century  we  find  them  denounced  among  the  methods 
employed  by  sheriffs  for  illegal  extortion ;  and  about 
the  same  time  they  were  very  frequently  condemned 
from  the  religious  point  of  view.  The  clergy  were  not 
only  forbidden  to  be  present  at  such  functions,  but  also 
directed  to  warn  their  parishioners  diligently  against 
them,  "  for  the  health  of  their  souls  and  bodies,"  since 
all  who  took  part  at  such  feasts  were  excommunicated. 
But  the  custom  died  hard  ;  or  rather,  it  was  probably 
rebaptized,  like  so  many  other  relics  of  paganism ;  and 
the  change  seems  to  have  taken  place  during  Chaucer's 
lifetime.  In  1364  Bishop  Langham  of  Ely  was  still 
fulminating  against  scot-ales;  in  1419,  if  not  before,  we 
find  an  authorized  system  of  "church-ales"  in  aid  of  the 
fabric.  These  were  held  sometimes  in  the  sacred  edifice 
itself;  more  often  in  the  Church  Houses,  the  rapid 
multiplication  of  which  during  the  15th  century  is 
probably  due  to  the  equally  rapid  growth  of  church-ales. 
The  Puritanism  of  the  13th  century  was  by  this  time 
somewhat  out  of  fashion ;  parish  finances  had  come  far 
more  under  the  parishioners'  own  control ;  and  it  was 
obviously  convenient  to  make  the  best  of  these  time- 
honoured  compotations,  as  of  the  equally  rough-and- 
ready  hock-day  customs,  in  order  to  meet  expenses  for 
which  the  parish  was  legally  responsible.  Earnest 
Churchmen  had,  all  through  this  century,  more  important 
abuses  to  combat  than  these  quasi-religious  convivi- 
alities; and  we  find  no  voice  raised  against  church-ales 
until  the  new  puritanism  of  the  Reformation.  The 
Canons  of  1603  forbade,  among  other  abuses,  "church 
ale  drinkings  ...  in  the  church,  chapel,  or  churchyard." 
While  Bishop  Piers  of  Bath  and  Wells  testified  that  he 


280  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

saw  no  harm  in  them,  the  puritan  Stubbes  accused  the 
participants  of  becoming  "as  drunk  as  rats,  and  as 
blockish  as  brute  beasts."  No  doubt  the  truth  lies 
between  these  extremes;  but  church-ales  must  not  be 
altogether  forgotten  when  we  read  the  numerous 
medieval  testimonies  to  the  intimate  connection  between 
holy  days  and  crime.* 

Perhaps  the  most  widespread  and  most  natural  of  all 
country  sports  was  that  of  poaching.  As  Dr.  Rashdall 
has  pointed  out,  it  was  especially  popular  at  the  two 
Universities,  where  the  paucity  of  authorized  amuse- 
ments drove  the  students  into  wilder  extremes.  We 
have  also  abundant  records  of  clerical  poachers ;  and  in 
1389  Richard  II.  enacted  at  the  petition  of  the  Commons 
"that  no  priest  or  clerk  with  less  than  ten  pounds  of 
yearly  income  should  keep  greyhounds,  'leetes'  or 
other  hunting  dogs,  nor  ferrets,  nets,  or  snares."  The 
same  petition  complained  that  "artificers  and  labourers 
— that  is  to  say,  butchers,  cobblers,  tailors,  and  other 
working-folk,  keep  greyhounds  and  other  dogs ;  and  at 
the  time  when  good  Christians  are  at  church  on  holy- 
days,  hearing  their  divine  services,  these  go  hunting  in 
the  parks,  coney-covers,  and  warrens  pertaining  to  lords 
and  other  folk,  and  destroy  them  utterly."  It  was  there- 
fore enacted  that  no  man  with  an  income  of  less  than 
forty  shillings  should  presume  to  keep  hunting  dogs  or 
implements. 

But  in  spite  of  squires  and  church  synods,  the 
working-man  did  all  he  could  to  escape,  in  his  own 
untutored  fashion,  from  the  dullness  of  his  working  days. 
Every  turn  of  life,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  was 
seized  upon  as  an  excuse  for  rough-and-ready  sports. 
When  a  witness  wishes  to  give  a  reason  for  remem- 
bering a  christening  on  a  certain  day,  he  testifies  to 
having  broken  his  leg  in  the  baptismal  football  match. 
Bishops  struggled  against   the  practice  of  celebrating 

•  Wilkins,  i.,  530,  719  ;  iii.,  61  and  passim;  Archaological  Journal, 
vol.  xl.,  pp.  I  ff;  "Somerset  Record  Society,"  vol.  iv. 


MERRY   ENGLAND  281 

marriages  in  taverns,  lest  the  intending  bride  and  bride- 
groom should  plight  their  troth  in  liquor ;  and  weddings 
in  general  were  so  uproarious  as  to  be  sometimes  ruled 
out  as  too  improper  not  only  for  a  monk's  attendance 
but  even  for  that  of  serious  and  pious  layfolk.  Similar 
survivals  of  barbaric  sports  clung  to  the  funeral  cere- 
monies— the  wake-plcyes  of  Chaucer's  Knight's  Tale; 
and  Archbishop  Thoresby's  constitutions  of  1367  seem 
to  speak  of  wrestling  matches  held  even  in  the  church 
by  the  side  of  the  dead  man's  bier.  Such  things  could 
scarcely  have  happened  without  some  clerical  con- 
nivance ;  and  in  fact,  the  sporting  parson  was  as  common 
in  Chaucer's  as  in  F'ielding's  day.  The  hunting  Monk 
of  his  "  Prologue "  is  abundantly  vouched  for  by  the 
despairing  complaints  of  ecclesiastical  disciplinarians  ; 
and  the  parish  parson,  so  often  a  peasant  by  birth,  con- 
stantly set  at  naught  the  prohibitions  of  his  superiors, 
to  join  with  tenfold  zest  in  the  least  decorous  pastimes 
of  his  village  flock.  While  archbishops  in  council 
legislated  repeatedly  and  vainly  against  the  hunting  and 
tavern-haunting  priest,  swaggering  about  with  a  sword 
at  his  side  or  the  least  decent  of  lay  doublets  and  hosen 
on  his  limbs,  the  homely  Lollard  satirist  vented  his 
scorn  on  this  Parson  Trulliber,  who  contrasted  so 
startlingly  with  Chaucer's  Parson  Adams — 

For  the  tithing  of  a  duck 

Or  of  an  apple,  or  of  an  ey  [egg 

They  make  man  swear  upon  a  book  ; 

Thus  they  foulen  Christes  fay.  [faith 

Such  bearen  evilly  heaven's  key  ; 
They  may  assoil,  and  they  may  shrive, 

With  mennes  wives  strongly  play, 
With  true  tillers  sturt  and  strive  [struggle 

At  the  wrestling,  and  at  the  wake, 

And  chiefe  chanters  at  the  ale  ; 
Market-beaters,  and  meddling-make, 

Hopping  and  hooting  with  heave  and  hale. 

At  faire  fresh,  and  at  wine  stale  ; 
Dine,  and  drink,  and  make  debate; 

The  seven  sacraments  set  a-sale  ; 
How  keep  such  the  keys  of  heaven  gate  ? 

("  Political  Poems"  (R.S.),  i.,  330). 


CHAPTER   XXII 
THE   KING'S   PEACE 

"  Accident  plays  a  greater  part  in  the  fourteenth  century  than  perhaps 
at  any  other  epoch.  ...  At  bottom  society  was  neither  quite  calm  nor 
quite  settled,  and  many  of  its  members  were  still  half  savage." — JUSSE- 
RAND,"  English  Wayfaring  Life." 

THE  ke}'  to  these  contrasts,  and  much  else  that  we 
are  slow  to  imagine  in  medieval  life,  lies  in  the 
comparative  simplicity  of  that  earlier  civilization.  We 
must  indeed  beware  of  exaggerating  this  simplicity ; 
there  were  already  many  complex  threads  of  social 
development;  again,  the  subtle  tyranny  of  custom  and 
opinion  has  in  all  primitive  societies  a  power  which  we 
find  it  hard  to  realize.  But  certainly  work  and  play 
were  far  less  specialized  in  Chaucer's  day  than  in  ours  ; 
far  less  definitely  sorted  into  different  pigeon-holes  of 
life.  The  drinking-bouts  and  rough  games  which  scan- 
dalized the  reformers  of  the  13th  century  had  once  been 
religious  ceremonies  themselves ;  and  the  two  ideas 
were  still  confused  in  the  popular  mind.  If,  again, 
Justice  was  so  anxious  to  forbid  popular  sports,  this 
was  partly  because  some  of  her  own  proceedings  still 
smacked  strongly  of  the  primeval  sporting  instinct  for 
which  her  growing  dignity  now  began  to  blush.  The 
scenic  penances  of  the  pillory  and  cucking-stool  were 
among  the  most  popular  spectacles  in  every  town  ;  and 
atrial  by  battle  "till  the  stars  began  to  appear"  must 
often  have  been  a  better  show  than  a  tournament,  even 
without  such  further  excitement  as  would  be  afforded 
by  the  match  between  a  woman  and  a  one-armed  friar, 
or  the  searching  of  a  bishop's  champion  for  the  con- 
traband    prayers    and     incantations    sewn    under    his 


THE  KING^S   PEACE  283 

clothes,  or  the  miracle  by  which  a  defeated  combatant, 

who  was  supposed  to  have  been  blinded  and  emasculated 

in  due  course  of  justice,  was  found  afterwards   to  be 

perfectly  whole   again    by   saintly   intercession.      Still 

more  exciting  were  the  hue  and  cry  after  a  felon,  his 

escape  to  some  sanctuary,  and  his  final  race  for  life  or 

"abjuration   of  the   realm."    What  vivid   recollections 

there  must  have  been  in  Chaucer's  family,  for  instance, 

of  his  great-uncle's  death   under  circumstances  which 

are  thus  drily  recorded  by  the  coroner  (November  12, 

1336):    "The  Jurors  say  that  Simon  Chaucer  and  one 

Robert  de  Upton,  skinner,  .  .  .  after  dinner,  quarrelled 

with  one  another  in  the  high  street  opposite  to  the  shop 

of  the  said   Robert,   in   the   said   parish,  by  reason  of 

rancour    previously    had    between     them,    whereupon 

Simon  wounded  Robert  on  the  upper  lip;  which  John 

de    Upton,   son   of   Robert,   perceiving,  he   took   up   a 

'dorbarre,'  without  the  consent  of  his  father,  and  struck 

Simon  on  the  left  hand  and  side,  and  on  the  head,  and 

then   fled  into   the  church  of  St.   Mary   of  Aldermari- 

chirche;  and  in  the  night  following  he  secretly  escaped 

from    the   same.     He   had   no   chattels.      Simon    lived, 

languishing,  till  the  said  Tuesday,  when  he  died  of  the 

blows,   early    in    the   morning.  .  .  .  The    Sheriffs     are 

ordered  to  attach  the  said  John  when  he  can  be  found 

in  their  bailiwick,  .  .  ."    There  was  an  evident  sporting 

element  in  this  race  for  sanctuary,  and  the  subsequent 

secret    escape  ;    and    we    cannot     help     feeling    some 

sympathy  with  the  son  whose  dorbarre  had  intervened 

so  unwisely,  yet  so  well.     But  this  affair,  except  for  its 

Chaucerian    interest,    is    commonplace ;   to    realize  the 

true   humours   of  criminal  justice   one   needs    to   read 

through  a  few  pages  of  the  records  published  by  the 

Surtees    Society,    Professors     Maitland     and    Thorold 

Rogers,    Dr.    Gross,   and    Mr.    Walter   Rye.      We   may 

there  find  how  Seman  the  hermit  was  robbed,  beaten, 

and  left  for  dead  by  Gilbert  of  Niddesdale  ;  how  Gilbert 

unluckily  fell   next  day  into  the   hands  of  the   King's 


284  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

Serjeant,  and  the  hermit  had  still  strength  enough  to 
behead  his  adversary  in  due  form  of  law,  the  Northum- 
berland custom  being  that  a  victim  could  redeem  his 
stolen  goods  only  by  doing  the  executioner's  dirty 
work ;  how,  again,  Thomas  the  Reeve  wished  to  chastise 
his  concubine  with  a  cudgel,  but  casually  struck  and 
killed  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  the  jury  brought  it  in 
a  mere  accident ;  how  an  unknown  woman  came  and 
bewitched  John  of  Kerneslaw  in  his  own  house  one 
evening,  so  that  the  said  John  used  to  make  the  sign  of 
the  cross  over  his  loins  when  any  man  said  Benedicitc ; 
how  in  a  fit  of  fury  he  thrust  the  witch  through  with  a 
spear,  and  her  corpse  was  solemnly  burned,  while  he 
was  held  to  have  done  the  deed  "  in  self-defence,  as 
against  the  Devil ; "  or,  again,  how  Hugh  Maidenlove 
escaped  from  Norwich  Castle  with  his  fellow  sheep- 
stealer  William  the  Clerk,  and  carried  him  stealthily  on 
his  back  to  the  sanctuary  of  St.  John  in  Berstreet,  by 
reason  that  the  said  William's  feet  were  so  putrefied  by 
the  duress  of  the  prison  that  he  could  not  walk.*  Let 
us  take  in  full,  as  throwing  a  more  intimate  light  on 
law  and  police,  another  case  with  a  different  beginning 
and  a  diff'erent  ending  to  Simon  Chaucer's  (November  6, 
131 1).  "  It  came  to  pass  at  Yelvertoft  .  .  .  that  a  certain 
William  of  Wellington,  parish  chaplain  of  Yelvertoft, 
sent  John  his  parish  clerk  to  John  Cobbler's  house  to 
buy  candles,  namely  a  pennyworth.  But  the  same  John 
would  not  send  them  without  the  money ;  wherefore 
the  aforesaid  William  waxed  wroth,  took  a  stick,  and 
went  to  the  house  of  the  said  John  and  broke  in  the 
door  upon  him  and  smote  this  John  on  the  fore  part  of 
the  head  with  the  same  stick,  so  that  his  brains  gushed 
forth  and  he  died  forthwith.     And  [William]  fled  hastily 

*  Eight  men  died  in  Northampton  gaol  between  Aug.  1322  and  Nov. 
1323  (Gross,  p.  79).  The  jury  casually  record  :  "  He  died  of  hunger, 
thirst,  and  want."  .  .  .  "Want  of  food  and  drink,  and  cold."  .  .  . 
"  Natural  death."  .  .  .  "  Hunger  and  thirst  and  natural  death."  One  is 
really  glad  to  think  that  so  small  a  proportion  of  criminals  ever  found 
their  way  into  prison. 


THE   KING^S   PEACE  285 

to  the  Church  of  Yelvertoft.  .  .  .  Inquest  was  made 
before  J.  of  Buckingham  by  four  neighbouring  town- 
ships, to  wit,  Yelverton,  Crick,  Winwick  and  Lilbourne. 
They  say  on  their  oath  as  aforesaid,  that  they  know  no 
man  guilty  of  John's  death  save  the  said  William  of 
Wellington.  He  therefore  came  before  the  aforesaid 
coroner  and  confessed  that  he  had  slain  the  said  John ; 
wherefore  he  abjured  the  realm  of  England  in  the 
presence  of  the  said  four  townships  brought  together 
[for  this  purpose].  And  the  port  of  Dover  was  assigned 
to  him."* 

This  "abjuration  of  the  realm,"  a  custom  of  English 
growth,  which  our  kings  transplanted  also  into  Nor- 
mandy, was  one  of  the  most  picturesque  scenes  of 
medieval  life.  It  was  designed  to  obviate  some  of  the 
abuses  of  that  privilege  of  sanctuary  which  had  no 
doubt  its  real  uses  in  those  days  of  club-law.  What 
happened  in  fact  to  William  of  Wellington,  we  may 
gather  not  only  from  legal  theorists  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
but  from  the  number  of  actual  cases  collected  by 
Reville.  t  The  criminal  remained  at  bay  in  the  church  ; 
and  no  man  might  as  yet  hinder  John  his  clerk  from 
bringing  him  food,  drink,  or  any  other  necessary.  The 
coroner  came  as  soon  as  he  could,  generally  within 
three  or  four  days  at  longest ;  but  he  might  possibly  be 
detained  for  ten  days  or  more,  and  meanwhile  (to  quote 
from  an  actual  case  in  1348)  "the  parish  kept  watch  over 
him  .  .  .  and  the  coroner  found  the  aforesaid  William 
in  the  said  church,  and  asked  him  wherefore  he  was 
there,  and  whether  or  not  he  would  yield  himself  to  the 
King's  peace."  The  matter  was  too  plain  for  William 
to  deny ;  his  confession  was  duly  registered,  and  he 
took  his  oath  to  quit  the  realm  within  forty  days.  I 
Coming  to  the  gate  of  the  church   or   churchyard,  he 

*  Gross,  "  Office  of  Coroner,"  p.  69. 
t  "  Eng.  Hist.  Rev.,"  vol.  50. 

X  This  still  allowed  him  to  migrate  to  another  part  of  the  King's 
dominions — e.^.  Ireland,  Scotland,  Normandy. 


286  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

swore  solemnly  before  the  assembled  crowd :  "  Oyez, 
oyez,  oyez  !  Coroner  and  other  good  folk  :  I,  William  de 
Wellington,  for  the  crime  of  manslaughter  which  I  have 
committed,  will  quit  this  land  of  England  nevermore  to 
return,  except  by  leave  of  the  kings  of  England  or  their 
heirs  :  so  help  me  God  and  His  saints  !"  The  coroner 
then  assigned  him  a  port,  and  a  reasonable  time  for  the 
journey ;  from  Yelverton  it  would  have  been  about  a 
week.  His  bearing  during  this  week  was  minutely 
prescribed :  never  to  stray  from  the  high-road,  or  spend 
two  nights  in  the  same  place ;  to  make  straight  for  his 
port,  and  to  embark  without  delay.  If  at  Dover  he 
found  no  vessel  ready  to  sail,  then  he  was  bound  daily 
to  walk  into  the  sea  up  to  his  knees — or,  according  to 
stricter  authorities,  up  to  his  neck — and  to  take  his  rest 
only  on  the  shore,  in  proof  that  he  was  ready  in  spirit 
to  leave  the  land  which  by  his  crimes  he  had  forfeited. 
His  dress  meanwhile  was  that  of  a  felon  condemned  to 
death — a  long,  loose  white  tunic,  bare  feet,  and  a  wooden 
cross  in  his  hand  to  mark  that  he  was  under  protection 
of  Holy  Church. 

Such  abjurations  were  matters  of  common  occurrence; 
yet  Dover  beach  was  not  crowded  with  these  unwilling 
pilgrims.  A  few,  of  course,  were  overtaken  and  slain 
on  the  way,  in  spite  of  their  sacred  character,  by  the 
friends  of  the  murdered  man.  But  many  more  must 
have  reflected  that,  since  they  would  find  neither  friends 
nor  welcome  abroad,  there  was  less  risk  in  taking  their 
chance  as  runaways  at  home.  If  caught,  they  were  liable 
to  be  strung  up  out  of  hand  ;  but  how  many  chances 
there  must  have  been  in  the  fugitive's  favour!  and,  even 
in  the  last  resort,  some  plausible  excuse  might  possibly 
soften  the  captors'  hearts.  One  criminal,  who  might 
possibly  even  have  rubbed  shoulders  with  Chaucer  in 
London,  pleaded  that  he  had  taken  sanctuary  and  been 
torn  from  the  altar.  This  was  disproved,  and  he  took 
refuge  in  a  convenient  dumbness.  For  such  afflictions 
the  Middle  Ages  knew  a  sovereign  remedy,  and  he  was 


THE   KING'S   PEACE  287 

led  forthwith  to  the  gallows.  Here  he  found  his  tongue 
again,  and  pleaded  clergy  ;  but  he  failed  to  read  his 
neck-verse,  and  was  hanged.  Often  the  miserable  home- 
sick wanderers  came  back  and  tried  to  save  their  lives 
by  turning  approvers  against  fellow-criminals.  In  1330 
Parliament  had  to  interfere,  and  ruled  that  John  English 
[Le7igleyse],  who  three  years  before  had  slain  the  Mayor 
of  Lynn,  taken  sanctuary,  and  abjured  the  realm,  could 
not  now  be  suffered  to  purchase  his  own  pardon  by 
accusing  others. 

What  happened,  it  may  be  asked,  if  William  refused 
either  to  acknowledge  his  guilt  or  to  stand  his  trial,  and 
simply  clung  to  the  sanctuary?  At  least  half  the 
criminals  thus  refused ;  and  here  even  theory  was  un- 
certain. If,  at  the  end  of  his  forty  days  of  grace,  the  lay 
authorities  tore  him  from  the  altar,  then  they  were  pretty 
sure  of  excommunication  from  the  bishop.  The  lawyers 
held,  therefore,  that  it  was  for  the  Ordinary,  the  Arch- 
deacon, the  Parson,  to  expel  this  man  who  had  outstayed 
even  the  ecclesiastical  welcome ;  but  we  all  know  the 
risk  of  dragging  even  a  good-tempered  dog  from  under 
a  chair  where  he  has  taken  refuge ;  and  how  could  the 
poor  bishop  be  expected  to  deal  with  this  desperado? 
The  matter  was  thus,  like  so  many  others,  left  very 
much  to  chance.  The  village  did  its  best  to  starve  the 
man  out,  and  meanwhile  to  watch  him  night  and  day. 
One  offending  William,  whose  forty  days  had  expired  on 
August  12,  1374,  held  out  against  this  blockade  until 
September  9,  when  he  fled.  Then  there  was  a  hue  and 
cry  of  the  whole  village ;  he  might  indeed  run  the 
gauntlet  and  make  good  his  escape,  leaving  his  quondam 
neighbours  to  prove  before  the  justices  that  they  had 
done  all  they  could,  or  to  pay  a  fine  for  their  negligence. 
Often,  however,  a  stick  or  stone  would  bring  him  down  at 
close  quarters,  or  an  arrow  from  afar  ;  then  in  a  moment 
he  was  overpowered  and  beheaded,  and  that  chase  was 
remembered  for  years  as  the  greatest  event  in  Yelvertoft. 

There  was  indeed  one  gross  irregularity  in  the  case 


288  CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

of  Sir  William  de  Wellington,  but  an  irregularity  which 
modern  readers  will  readily  pardon.  Becket  had  given 
his  life  for  the  freedom  of  the  Church  as  he  conceived 
it,  and  especially  for  the  principle  that  no  cleric  should 
be  punished  by  the  lay  courts  for  any  offence,  however 
heinous.  The  death  of  "the  holy  blissful  martyr"  did 
indeed  establish  this  principle  in  theory;  and,  with  the 
most  powerful  corporation  in  the  world  to  protect  it,  it 
was,  in  fact,  kept  far  more  strictly  than  most  legal 
theories.  William,  therefore,  after  dashing  John  the 
Cobbler's  brains  upon  the  floor,  might  well  have  found 
it  necessary  to  take  refuge  in  the  church  from  the  blind 
fury  of  summary  and  illegal  vengeance  ;  but  he  need  not 
have  abjured  the  realm.  In  theory  he  had  simply  to 
confess  his  offence,  or  to  stand  his  trial  and  suffer 
conviction  from  the  King's  judges ;  then  the  bishop's 
commissary  stepped  forward  and  claimed  the  condemned 
clerk  in  the  name  of  the  Church.  The  bishop,  dis- 
regarding the  verdict  of  the  jury,  would  try  him  again 
by  the  primitive  process  of  compurgation ;  that  is, 
would  bid  him  present  himself  with  a  specified  number 
of  fellow-clergy  or  persons  of  repute,  who  would  join 
William  in  swearing  on  the  Bible  to  his  innocence.  In 
this  particular  case  William  would  probably  have  failed 
to  find  proper  compurgators,  and  the  bishop  might,  if 
he  had  chosen,  have  imprisoned  him  for  life.  But  this 
involved  very  considerable  expense  and  responsibility  ; 
it  was  a  more  invidious  and  costly  matter  than  to  prose- 
cute nowadays  for  alleged  illegal  practices,  and  the 
documents  show  us  very  clearly  that  only  the  smallest 
fraction  of  these  criminous  clerks  were  imprisoned  for 
any  length  of  time.  Indeed,  for  any  such  strict  system, 
the  episcopal  prisons  would  have  needed  to  be  ten  times 
their  actual  size.  Equally  seldom  do  we  find  notices  of 
the  next  drastic  punishment  in  the  bishop's  power — the 
total  degradation  of  the  offender  from  his  Orders,  after 
which  the  lay  judges  might  punish  him  unchallenged 
for  his  second  crime.     Many  of  the  guilty  parties  did, 


THE   KING'S   PEACE  289 

in  fact,  "  purge  "  themselves  successfully,  and  were  thus 
let  loose  on  society  as  before ;  this  we  have  on  the 
unimpeachable  testimony  of  the  Oxford  Chancellor 
Gascoigne,  even  if  it  were  not  sufficiently  evident  from 
the  records  themselves.  The  notoriously  guilty  re- 
ceived more  or  less  inadequate  punishments,  and  were 
sometimes  simply  shunted  on  to  another  diocese,  a 
shifting  of  responsibility  which  was  practised  even  by 
the  strictest  of  reforming  prelates.  The  curious  reader 
may  trace  for  himself,  in  the  English  summaries  from 
Bishop  Giffard's  register,  the  practical  working  of  these 
clerical  privileges.*  First,  there  are  frequent  records 
of  criminous  clerks  handed  over  to  the  bishop,  in  the 
ordinary  routine,  by  the  lay  justices.  Sometimes  the 
bishop  had  to  interfere  in  a  more  summary  fashion,  as 
when  he  commissioned  four  rural  deans  "  to  cause 
Robert,  rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Blessed  Mary  in  the 
market  of  Bristol,  to  be  released,  he  being  suspected  of 
homicide  having  fled  to  the  church,  and  having  been 
besieged  here  ;  and  to  excommunicate  all  who  should 
oppose  them  "(49).  Robert  had  not  yet  gone  through 
any  formal  trial ;  the  bishop  apparently  rescued  him 
merely  from  the  fury  of  the  people  ;  but,  even  if  he  had 
been  tried  and  condemned  by  the  King's  courts,  he  had 
still  a  liberal  chance  of  escape.  A  few  pages  further  in 
the  register  (79)  we  find  a  declaration  "  that  whereas 
William  de  Capella,  an  acolyte,  was  accused  and  con- 
demned for  the  death  of  John  Gogun  of  Pershore,  before 
the  justices  itinerant  at  Worcester,  and  was  on  demand 
of  the  bishop's  commissary  delivered  up  by  the  same 
justices,  the  same  William  being  afterwards  examined 
before  the  sub-prior  of  Worcester  and  Geoffrey  de 
Cubberlay,  clerk,  solemnly  declared  that  he  was  in 
nowise  guilty;  and  at  length  upon  proclamations,  no 
one  opposing,  with  four  priests,  two  sub-deacons,  and 
six  acolytes,  his  compurgators,  he  was  admitted  to 
purgation  and  declared  innocent  of  the  said  crime  ;  and 

*  Worcestershire  Record  Society. 
u 


290      CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 

after  giving  security  to  answer  any  accusers  if  required, 
he  was  permitted  to  depart  freely.  And  it  is  forbidden 
under  pain  of  anathema  to  any  one  to  lay  such  homicide 
to  the  charge  of  the  said  William."  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, the  scandal  was  too  notorious ;  and,  though  no 
mere  layman  had  the  least  legal  right  to  interfere  with 
the  bishop's  own  private  justice,  the  King  would  apply 
pressure  in  the  name  of  common  sense.  So  on  page  408 
we  find  a  "letter  from  King  Edward  I.  to  John  Peckham, 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  desiring  him  to  refuse 
purgation  to  Robert  de  Lawarre,  a  clerk  accused  of 
theft  and  homicide  and  in  the  gaol  of  Worcester;"  and 
a  few  months  later  the  same  strenuous  champion  of 
justice  sent  a  more  general  warning  to  the  Bishop 
of  Worcester,  "  forbidding  him  to  take  the  purgation 
of  clerks  detained  in  his  prison,  whose  crimes  are 
notorious ;  but  with  regard  to  others  he  may  take  such 
purgation  "  (410).  The  system  was,  indeed,  notoriously 
faulty,  and  did  much  to  encourage  that  venality  in  the 
clerical  courts  which  moved  Chaucer's  laughter  and  the 
indignation  of  his  coijtemporaries.  The  clergy,  says 
Gower,  are  judges  in  their  own  cause,  and  each  shields 
the  other :  "  My  turn  to-day ;  to-morrow  thou  shalt  do 
the  like  for  me."  In  vain  did  councils  decree  year  after 
year  that  they  should  bear  no  arms  ;  rectors  (as  we 
have  seen  in  Chapter  VIII.)  imperturbably  bequeathed 
their  formidable  daggers  by  will,  and  duly  registered 
the  bequest  in  the  Bishop's  court.  "O  Priest,  answer 
to  my  call ;  wherefore  hast  thou  so  long  a  knife  dangling 
at  thy  belt?  art  thou  armed  to  fight  in  God's  quarrel 
or  the  devil's  ?  .  .  .  The  wild  beast  in  rutting-season 
becomes  fiercer  and  more  wanton ;  if  ever  he  be 
thwarted,  forthwith  he  will  fight  and  strike  ;  and  that 
is  the  same  cause  why  the  priests  fight  when  they  turn 
to  lechery  like  beasts  ;  they  wander  idly  everywhere 
seeking  and  hunting  for  women,  with  whom  they 
corrupt  the  country."  *     A  century  later  the  Commons 

•  Gower,  "  Mirour,"  20125,  20653. 


THE   KING'S   PEACE  291 

pressed  the  King  for  fresh  and  more  stringent  laws  to 
remedy  the  notorious  fact  that  "  upon  trust  of  the 
privilege  of  the  Church,  divers  persons  have  been  the 
more  bold  to  commit  murder,  rape,  robbery,  theft,  and 
other  mischievous  deeds,  because  they  have  been  con- 
tinually admitted  to  the  benefit  of  the  clergy  as  often  as 
they  did  offend  in  an}'-  of  the  [aforesaid]." 

This  petition  of  the  Commons  and  the  Act  which 
resulted  from  it,  had  already  often  been  anticipated  by 
the  rough-and-ready  justice  of  the  people  themselves. 
In  1382,  the  citizens  of  London  took  these  matters  into 
their  own  hands,  and  Chaucer  had  probably  seen  more 
than  one  unchaste  priest  marched  with  his  guilty  partner 
to  the  common  lock-up  in  Cornhill,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  derisive  music,  and  amid  the  jeers  of  the 
populace.  Eight  years  after  his  death,  the  city  authori- 
ties began  to  keep  a  regular  record  of  such  cases,  and 
"Letter-Book,"  I,  "contains  some  dozens  of  similar 
charges,  mostly  against  chaplains  celebrating  in  the 
city,  temp.  Henry  IV.  to  Henry  VI."  *  This  lynch-law 
is  abundantly  explained  by  the  very  disproportionate 
numbers  of  criminous  clerks  whom  we  often  find  recorded 
in  coroners'  or  assize  rolls,  and  who  were  frequently  no 
mere  shavelings,  but  priests  and  substantial  incumbents.f 
In  1200  these  men  were  almost  above  the  law;  in  1600 
they  were  amenable  to  justice  as  though  they  had  not 
been  anointed  with  oil ;  in  1400  it  depended  (as  in 
London  and  in  this  Yelvertoft  case)  whether  the  popular 
indignation  was  strong  enough  to  beat  down  the  clerical 
privilege. 

"Accident  plays  a  more  important  part  in  the  14th 
century  than  in  any  other  age,"  and  in  many  ways 
England  was  no  doubt  the  merrier  for  this.  Prosaic  and 
uniform  modern  Justice,  bewigged  as  well  as  blindfolded, 

*  Riley,  567  ;  cf.  Preface  to  "  Liber  Albus,"  p.  cvii.,  and  Walsingham, 
an.  1382. 

t  Cf.  Mr.  Walter  Rye's  articles  in  "  Norf.  Antq.  Misc.,"  vol  ii.,  p.  194, 
and  ArchcEological  Review  for  1888,  p.  201. 


292  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

could  no  more  have  been  foreseen  by  Chaucer  than 
railways  or  life  insurance.  First  of  all,  there  was 
the  chance  of  bribing  the  judge  in  the  regular  and 
acknowledged  way  of  business.*  Then,  the  prospect 
of  a  Royal  pardon  ;  Edward  III.  more  than  once  pro- 
claimed such  a  general  amnesty;  and  a  petition  of  the 
Commons  in  1389,  forthwith  embodied  in  an  Act  of 
Parliament,  is  eloquent  on  the  "  outrageous  mischiefs 
and  damages  which  have  befallen  the  Realm  because 
treasons,  murders,  and  rapes  of  women  are  too  com- 
monly perpetrated  ;  and  all  the  more  so  because  charters 
of  pardon  have  been  too  lightly  granted  in  such  cases." 
The  terms  of  the  petition  and  bill,  and  the  heroic 
measures  of  remedy,  are  sufficiently  significant  of  the 
state  of  things  with  which  the  reformers  had  to 
contend.t 

Moreover,  justice  offered  at  every  point  a  series  of 
splendid  uncertainties,  and  a  thousand  giddy  turns  of 
fortune's  wheel.  Apart  from  the  practical  impunity 
of  the  powerful,  even  the  poorest  felon  had  more  chances 
in  his  favour  than  the  modern  plutocrat ;  for  there  is  no 
higher  prize  than  a  man's  own  life,  and  no  American 
millionaire  enjoys  facilities  for  homicide  equal  to  those 
of  our  14th-century  villagers.  Such  regrettable  inci- 
dents, as  reckoned  from  the  coroners'  rolls,  were  from 
five  to  forty  times  more  frequent  then  than  in  our 
days — it  depends  whether  we  count  them  as  mere 
manslaughters  or,  according  to  the  stricter  idea  of 
modern  justice,  as  downright  murders.  No  doubt  stab- 
bing was  never  so  frequent  or  so  systematic  in  England 
as  at  Naples ;  but  thousands  of  worthy  Englishmen 
might  have  cried  with  Chaucer's  Host,  "  for  I  am  perilous 

*  The  complaints  which  meet  us  in  Gower  and  "  Piers  Plowman  "  on 
this  score  are  more  than  borne  out  by  the  "  Shillingford  Letters" 
(Camden  Soc,  1871).  The  worthy  Mayor  of  Exeter  reports  faithfully  to 
his  fellow-citizens  what  bribes  he  gives,  and  to  whom. 

t  Chaucer's  pupil  Iloccleve  speaks  almost  equally  strongly  on  the 
mischief  of  such  pardons  ("  Works,"  E.E.T.S.,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  113  {{). 


THE   KING'S   PEACE  293 

with  knife  in  hand!"  Many  readers  have  doubtless 
noted  how,  in  this  very  passage,  Harry  Bailey  reckons 
as  probable  punishment  for  homicide  not  the  gallows, 
but  only  outlawry — 

I  wot  well  she  will  do  me  slay  some  day 
Some  neighebour,  and  thenne  go  my  way.  .  .  . 

The  fact  is  that  judicial  statistics  of  the  Middle  Ages 
show  the  murderer  to  have  had  many  more  chances 
of  survival  than  a  convicted  thief  The  Northumberland 
Roll  of  1279  (to  choose  a  typical  instance)  gives  72 
homicides  to  only  43  accidental  deaths.  These  ^2  deaths 
were  brought  home  to  83  culprits,  of  whom  only  3 
are  recorded  to  have  been  hanged.  Of  the  remainder, 
69  escaped  altogether,  6  took  sanctuary,  2  were  never 
identified,  i  pleaded  his  clergy,  i  was  imprisoned,  and 
I  was  fined.  To  a  mind  of  any  imagination,  such  bare 
facts  will  often  open  wider  vistas  than  a  great  deal  of 
so-called  poetry.  There  can  be  no  truer  commentary 
on  the  "Tale  of  Gamelyn"  or  the  "Geste  of  Robin 
Hood "  than  these  formal  assize  rolls.  The  justice's 
clerk  drones  on  monotonously,  paragraph  after  para- 
graph, "Alan  Fuller  .  .  .  and  he  fled,  and  therefore 
let  him  be  outlawed;  chattels  he  hath  none"  ;  "  Patrick 
Scot  .  .  .  fled  .  .  .  outlawed  "  ;  "  William  Slater  .  .  . 
fled  .  .  .  outlawed  " ;  but  all  the  while  we  see  the  broad 
sunshine  outside  the  windows,  and  hear  the  rustle  of 
the  forest  leaves,  and  voices  whisper  in  our  ear — 

He  must  necdes  walk  in  wood  that  may  not  walk  in  town. 

In  summer,  when  the  shaws  be  sheen, 

And  leaves  be  large  and  long, 
It  is  full  merry  in  fair  forest 

To  hear  the  fowliis'  song. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 
PRIESTS   AND   PEOPLE 

"  Charity  is  a  childlike  thing,  as  Holy  Church  witnesseth  ; 
As  proud  of  a  penny  as  of  a  pound  of  gold, 
And  all  so  glad  of  a  gown  of  grey  russet 
As  of  a  coat  of  damask  or  of  clean  scarlet. 
He  is  glad  with  all  glad,  as  girls  that  laughen  all, 
And  sorry  when  he  seeth  men  sorry  ;  as  thou  seest  children  .  .  . 
Laugh  when  men  laughen,  and  lower  where  men  low'ren.  .  .  . 
And  in  a  friar's  frock  he  was  found  once, 
But  that  is  far  and  many  years,  in  Francis'  time  ; 
In  that  suit  since  too  seldom  hath  he  been  found." 

"  Piers  Plowman,"  B.,  xvii.,  296,  352 

WHEN  the  greatest  Pope  of  the  13th  century  saw  in 
his  dream  a  vision  of  St.  Francis  propping  the 
tottering  church,  both  he  and  the  saint  augured  from 
this  happy  omen  a  reformation  more  sudden  and  com- 
plete than  was  actually  possible.  Church  historians  of 
all  schools  have  often  seemed  to  imply  that  if  St.  Francis 
had  come  back  to  earth  on  the  first  or  second  centenary 
of  his  death,  he  would  have  found  the  Church  rather 
worse  than  better ;  and  certainly  Chaucer's  contempo- 
raries thought  so.  It  is  probable  that  in  this  they  were 
mistaken;  that  the  higher  life  was  in  fact  unfolding  no 
less  surely  in  religion  than  in  the  State,  but  that  men's 
impatience  of  evils  which  were  only  too  obvious,  and 
a  restlessness  bred  by  the  rapid  growth  of  new  ideas, 
tempted  them  to  despair  too  easily  of  their  own  age. 
The  failure  of  the  friars  became  a  theme  of  common 
talk,  as  soon  as  enough  time  had  gone  by  for  the  world 
to  realize  that  Francis  and  Dominic  had  but  done  what 
man  can  do,  and  that  there  was  as  yet  no  visibly  new 
heaven  or  new  earth.    Wycliffe  himself  scarcely  inveighed 


PRIESTS   AND   PEOPLE  295 

more  strongly  against  many  of  the  worst  abuses  in  the 
Church  than  Bonaventura  a  century  before  him — Bona- 
ventura,  the  canonized  saint  and  Minister  General  of 
the  Franciscans,  who  as  a  boy  had  actually  seen  the 
Founder  face  to  face.  The  current  of  thought  during 
those  hundred  years  is  typified  by  Dante  and  the  author 
of  "  Piers  Plowman."  Dante,  bitterly  as  he  rebuked  the 
corruptions  of  the  age,  still  dreamed  of  reform  on 
conservative  lines.  In  "  Piers  Plowman  "  it  is  frankly 
recognized  that  things  must  be  still  worse  before  they 
can  be  better.  The  Church  is  there  described  as  already 
succumbing  to  the  assaults  of  Antichrist,  aided  by 
"proud  priests  more  than  a  thousand" — 

*  By  Mary  ! '  quoth  a  cursed  priest  of  the  March  of  Ireland, 

'  I  count  no  more  conscience,  if  only  I  catch  silver, 

Than  I  do  to  drink  a  draught  of  good  ale  ! ' 

And  so  said  sixty  of  the  same  country, 

And  shotten  again  with  shot,  many  a  sheaf  of  oaths, 

And  broad  hooked  arrows,  '  God's  heart  P  and  '  God^s  nails  f 

And  had  almost  Unity  and  Holy  Church  adown. 

Conscience  cried  '  Help,  clergy,*  or  else  I  fall 

Through  imperfect  priests  and  prelates  of  Holy  Church.' 

Friars  heard  him  cry,  and  camen  him  to  help  ; 

But,  for  they  knew  not  their  craft.  Conscience  forsook  them. 

One  friar,  however,  is  admitted,  Brother  "Creep-into- 
Houses,"  but  he  turns  out  the  worst  traitor  of  all, 
benumbing  Contrition  by  his  false  absolutions — 

Sloth  saw  that,  and  so  did  Pride, 

And  came  with  a  keen  will  Conscience  to  assail. 

Conscience  cried  oft,  and  bade  Clergy  help  him, 

And  also  Contrition,  for  to  keep  the  gate. 

'  He  lieth  and  dreameth,'  said  Peace,  '  and  so  do  many  other  ; 

The  friar  with  his  physic  this  folk  hath  enchanted, 

And  plastered  them  so  easily,  they  dread  no  sin.' 

'  By  Christ ! '  quoth  Conscience  then,  '  I  will  become  a  pilgrim. 
And  walken  as  wide  as  all  the  world  lasteth 
To  seek  Piers  the  Plowman  ;t  that  Pride  may  be  destroyed, 

*  Clergy  is  of  course  here  used   in  the  common  medieval  sense  of 
learning;  it  does  not  refer  to  any  body  of  men. 

t  I.e.  the  type  of  perfect  religion,  "  the  Christ  that  is  to  be." 


296  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

And  that  friars  have  a  finding,*  that  for  need  flatteren, 
And  counterplead  me,  Conscience.     Now,  Kind  me  avenge 
And  send  me  hap  and  heal,  till  I  have  Piers  the  Plowman.' 
And  sith  he  cried  after  grace,  till  I  gan  awake. 

So  ends  this  dreamer  on  the  Malvern  Hills,  and  so 
thought  many  more  good  Christians  of  Chaucer's  time. 
It  would  be  tedious  even  to  enumerate  the  orthodox 
authorities  which  testify  to  the  deep  corruption  of 
popular  religion  in  the  14th  century.  Two  books  of 
Gower's  "Vox  Clamantis  "  (or  one-third  of  the  whole 
work)  are  devoted  to  invectives  against  the  Church  of 
his  time  ;  and  he  goes  over  the  same  ground  with  equal 
minuteness  in  his  "  Mirour  de  I'Omme."  The  times  are 
out  of  joint,  he  says,  the  light  of  faith  grows  dim;  the 
clergy  are  mostly  ignorant,  quarrelsome,  idle,  and 
unchaste,  and  the  prelates  do  not  correct  them  because 
they  themselves  are  no  better.  The  average  priests 
do  the  exact  opposite  of  what  Chaucer  praises  in  his 
Poor  Parson ;  they  curse  for  tithes,  and  leave  their 
sheep  in  the  lurch  to  go  mass-hunting  into  the  great 
towns.  If,  again,  they  stay  unwillingly  in  the  villages, 
then  instead  of  preaching  and  visiting  they  waste  their 
own  time  and  the  patrimony  of  the  poor  in  riot  or 
debauchery  ;  naj^,  the  higher  clergy  even  encourage 
vice  among  the  people  in  order  to  gain  money  and 
influence  for  themselves.  Their  evil  example  among 
the  multitude,  and  the  contempt  into  which  they  bring 
their  office  among  the  better  laity,  are  main!}-  re- 
sponsible for  the  decay  of  society.  Of  monks  and  nuns 
and  friars,  Gower  writes  even  more  bitterly;  the  monks 
are  frequently  unchaste;  nuns  are  sometimes  debauched 
even  by  their  own  official  visitors,  and  the  friars 
seriously  menace  the  purity  of  family  life.  In  short, 
the  reign  of  Antichrist  seems  to  be  at  hand ;  if 
the  world  is  to  be  mended  we  can  only  pray  God  to 
reform   the   clergy.      Wycliffe    himself   wrote   nothing 

*  Be  "found  "or  provided  for,  so  that  they  need  no  longer  to  live  by 
begging  and  flattery. 


PRIESTS   AND   PEOPLE  297 

more  bitter  than  this ;  yet  Gower  was  a  whole  horizon 
removed  from  anti-clericalism  or  heresy ;  he  hated 
Lollardy,  and  chose  to  spend  his  last  days  among 
the  canons  of  Southwark.  Moreover,  in  the  next 
generation,  we  have  an  equally  scathing  indictment 
of  the  Church  from  Gascoigne,  another  bitter  anti- 
Wycliffite  and  the  most  distinguished  Oxford  Chancellor 
of  his  generation.  St.  Catherine  of  Siena,  who  knew 
Rome  and  Avignon  only  too  well,  is  proportionately 
more  vehement  in  her  indignation.  Moreover,  the 
formal  records  of  the  Church  itself  bear  out  all  the 
gravest  charges  in  contemporary  literature.  The  parish 
churches  were  very  frequently  reported  as  neglected, 
dirty,  and  ruinous  ;  the  very  service  books  and  most 
necessary  ornaments  as  either  dilapidated  or  lacking 
altogether;  priests  and  people  as  grossly  irreverent.* 
Wherever  we  find  a  visitation  including  laity  and 
clerics  alike,  the  clergy  presented  for  unchastity  are 
always  numerous  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  laity ; 
sometimes  more  than  ten  times  as  numerous.  Episcopal 
registers  testify  plainly  to  the  difficulty  of  dealing  with 
monastic  decay  and  to  the  neglect  of  proper  precautions 
against  the  intrusion  of  unworthy  clerics  into  benefices. 
Many  of  the  anti-Lollard  Articles  solemnly  presented 
by  the  University  of  Oxford  to  the  King  in  1414  might 
have  been  drawn  up  by  Wycliffe  himself  These  pillars 
of  the  Church  pray  Henry  Y.,  who  was  known  to  have 
religion  so  much  at  heart,  to  find  some  remedy  for  the 
sale  of  indulgences,  the  "undisciplined  and  unlearned 
crowd   which    daily   pressed   to   take   sacred   orders " ; 

*  This  was  very  commonly  the  case  even  in  the  greatest  cathedrals  : 
typical  reports  may  be  found  in  the  easily  accessible  "  York  Fabric  Rolls  " 
(Surtees  Soc).  With  regard  to  Canterbury,  a  strange  legend  is  current 
to  the  effect  that  Lord  Badlesmere  was  executed  in  1322  for  his  irreverent 
behaviour  in  that  cathedral.  Apart  from  the  extraordinary  inherent 
improbability  of  any  such  story,  the  execution  of  Lord  Badlesmere  is  one 
of  the  best  known  events  in  the  reign.  He  was  hanged  for  joining  the 
Earl  of  Lancaster  in  open  rebellion  against  Edward,  against  whom  he 
had  fought  at  Boroughbridge. 


298  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

the  scandalous  ease  with  which  "  illiterate,  silly,  and 
ignorant"  candidates,  even  if  rejected  by  the  English 
authorities,  could  get  ordained  at  the  Roman  court ; 
the  system  which  allowed  monasteries  to  prey  upon  so 
many  parishes ;  the  pardoners'  notorious  frauds,  the 
irreverence  of  the  people  at  large,  the  embezzlement 
of  hospital  endowments,  the  debasement  of  moral 
standards  by  flattering  friar-confessors,  and  lastly  the 
numbers  and  practical  impunity  of  fornicating  monks, 
friars,  and  parish  priests.  As  early  as  1371,  the 
Commons  had  petitioned  Edward  III.  that,  "whereas 
the  Prelates  and  Ordinaries  of  Holy  Church  take 
money  of  clergy  and  laity  in  redemption  of  their  sin 
from  day  to  day,  and  from  year  to  year,  in  that  they 
keep  their  concubines  openly  ...  to  the  open  scandal 
and  evil  example  of  the  whole  comrrlonalty,"  this  system 
of  hush-money  should  now  be  put  down  by  Royal 
authority ;  that  the  ordinary  courts  of  justice  should 
have  cognizance  of  such  cases ;  and  that  such  beneficed 
clergy  as  still  persisted  in  concubinage  should  be 
deprived  of  their  livings.* 

To  comment  fully  on  Chaucer's  clerical  characters 
in  the  light  of  other  contemporary  documents  would 
be  to  write  a  whole  volume  of  Church  history;  but  no 
picture  of  that  age  could  be  even  roughly  complete 
without  such  a  summary  as  I  have  just  given.  We 
must,  of  course,  discount  to  some  extent  the  language 
of  indignation ;  but,  to  understand  what  it  was  that 
drew  such  bitter  words  from  writers  of  such  acknow- 
ledged gravity,  we  must  try  to  transport  ourselves, 
with  our  own  common  human  feelings,  into  that 
strange  and  distant  world.  So  much  of  the  old  frame- 
work of  society  was  either  ill-made  or  long  since 
outworn ;  a  new  world  was  struggling  to  grow  up 
freely  amid  the  mass  of  dying  conventions;  the  human 

*  Wilkins,  iii.,  360  ff;  "  Rot.  Pari."  ii.,  313.  I  have  given  fuller  details 
and  references  in  the  8th  of  my  "  Medieval  Studies,"  "  Priests  and 
People  "  (Simpkins,  is.). 


PRIESTS   AND   PEOPLE  299 

spirit  was  surging  vehemently  against  its  barriers ;  and 
much  was  swept  boisterously  away. 

Think  for  a  moment  of  the  English  boy  as  we  know 
him ;  for  in  most  essentials  he  was  very  much  the  same 
even  five  hundred  years  ago.  At  fifteen  or  sixteen 
(or  even  at  an  earlier  age,  if  his  family  had  sufficient 
influence)  he  might  well  receive  a  fat  rectory  or 
canonry.  Before  the  Black  Death,  an  enormous  pro- 
portion of  the  livings  in  lay  advowson  were  given  to 
persons  who  were  not  in  priest's  orders,  and  often 
not  in  holy  orders  at  all*  The  Church  theoretically 
forbade  with  the  utmost  severity  this  intrusion  of  mere 
boys  into  the  best  livings;  but  all  through  the  Church 
the  forbidden  thing  was  done  daily,  and  most  shame- 
lessly of  all  at  the  Papal  court.  A  strong  bishop  in 
the  13th  century  might  indeed  fight  against  the  practice, 
but  with  slender  success.  Giffard  of  Worcester,  a 
powerful  and  obstinate  prelate,  attempted  in  1282  to 
enforce  the  recent  decree  of  the  Ecumenical  Council  of 
Lyons,  and  declared  the  rectory  of  Campden  vacant 
because  the  incumbent  had  refused  for  three  years  past 
to  qualify  himself  by  taking  priest's  orders.  After  four 
years  of  desperate  litigation,  during  which  the  Pope 
twice  intervened  in  a  half-hearted  and  utterly  ineffectual 
fashion,  the  Bishop  was  obliged  to  leave  the  case  to  the 
judgment  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  whose  court 
enjoyed  a  reputation  for  venality  only  second  to  that 
of  Rome.  Other  bishops  seem  to  have  given  up  all 
serious  attempts  to  enforce  the  decree  of  the  Council 
of  Lyons ;  Stapeldon  of  Exeter,  for  instance,  permitted 
nearly  three-quarters  of  the  first  presentations  by 
laymen  to  be  made  to  persons  who  were  not  in  priest's 
orders ;  and  he  commonly  enjoined,  after  institution, 
that  the  new  rector  should  go  forthwith  and  study  at 

*  Taking  eight  test-periods,  which  cover  four  dioceses  and  a  space  of 
nearly  forty-five  years,  I  find  that,  before  the  Black  Death,  scarcely  more 
than  one-third  of  the  livings  in  lay  gift  were  presented  to  men  in  priest's 
orders — the  exact  proportion  is  262  priests  to  452  non-priests. 


300  CHAUCER  AND  HIS   ENGLAND 

the  University.  To  appreciate  the  full  significance  of 
this,  we  must  remember  that  boys  habitually  went  up 
to  Oxford  in  those  days  at  from  thirteen  to  sixteen, 
and  that  the  discipline  there  was  of  almost  incredible 
laxity.  The  majority  of  students,  after  inscribing  their 
names  on  the  books  of  a  master  whose  authority  over 
them  was  almost  nominal,  went  and  lodged  where  they 
chose  in  the  town.  At  the  time  when  Chaucer  might 
have  gone  to  Oxford  there  were,  perhaps,  3000 
students;  but  (apart  from  the  friaries  and  collegiate 
provision  for  a  few  monks)  there  were  only  five 
colleges,  with  accommodation  in  all  for  something  less 
than  eighty  students.  Only  one  of  these  was  of  stone  ; 
not  one  was  yet  built  in  that  quadrangular  form  which, 
adopted  in  Chaucer's  later  days  by  New  College,  has 
since  set  the  pattern  for  both  Universities ;  and  the 
discipline  was  as  rudimentary  as  the  architecture.  A 
further  number  of  students  were  accommodated  in 
"  Halls "  or  "  Hostels."  These  had  originally  been 
ordinary  private  houses,  rented  by  two  or  more 
students  in  common ;  and  the  Principal  was  simply  an 
older  student  who  made  himself  responsible  for  the 
rent.  Not  until  thirty  years  after  Chaucer's  death  was 
it  enacted  that  the  Principal  must  be  a  B.A.  at  least ; 
and  since  we  find  that  at  Paris,  where  the  same  regu- 
lation was  introduced  about  the  same  time,  it  was 
necessary  even  fifty  years  later  to  proceed  against 
women  who  kept  University  halls,  it  is  quite  probable 
that  the  salutary  statute  was  frequently  broken  at 
Oxford  also.  The  government  of  these  halls  was 
entirely  democratic,  and  only  at  a  later  period  was  it 
possible  even  to  close  the  gates  on  the  students  at 
night.  These  boys  "  were  in  general  perfectly  free  to 
roam  about  the  streets  up  to  the  hour  at  which  all 
respectable  citizens  were  in  the  habit,  if  not  actually 
compelled  by  the  town  statutes,  of  retiring  to  bed. 
They  might  spend  their  evenings  in  the  tavern  and 
drink  as  much  as  they  please.     Drunkenness  is  rarely 


PRIESTS  AND   PEOPLE  301 

treated  as  a  University  offence  at  all.  .  .  .  The  penalties 
which  are  denounced  and  inflicted  even  for  grave 
outrages  are  seldom  severe,  and  never  of  a  specially 
schoolboy  character."  "  It  is  necessary  to  assert 
emphatically  that  the  religious  education  of  a  bygone 
Oxford,  in  so  far  as  it  ever  had  any  existence,  was  an 
inheritance  not  from  the  Middle  Ages  but  from  the 
Reformation.  In  Catholic  countries  it  was  the  product 
of  the  Counter-reformation,  Until  that  time  the  Church 
provided  as  little  professional  education  for  the  future 
priest  as  it  did  religious  instruction  for  the  ordinary 
layman."*  The  only  religious  education  was  that  the 
student,  like  other  citizens,  was  supposed  to  attend 
Mass  regularly  on  Sundays  and  holy  days,  and  might 
very  likely  know  enough  Latin  to  follow  the  service. 
But  the  want  of  proper  grounding  in  Latin  was  always 
the  weak  point  of  these  Universities ;  it  is  probable 
that  at  least  half  the  scholars  left  Oxford  without  any 
degree  whatever ;  and  we  have  not  only  the  general 
complaints  of  contemporaries,  but  actual  records  of 
examinations  showing  that  quite  a  considerable  pro- 
portion of  the  clergy  could  not  decently  construe  the 
language  of  their  own  service-books. 

How,  indeed,  should  the  ordinary  idle  man  have 
learned  anything  to  speak  of,  under  so  rudimentary  a 
system  of  teaching  and  discipline?  Gower  asserts  as 
strongly  as  Wycliffe  that  the  beneficed  clergy  escaped 
from  their  parishes  to  the  University  as  to  a  place  of 
riot  and  self-indulgence.  If  Exeter  was  a  typical 
diocese  (and  there  seems  no  reason  to  the  contrary) 
there  must  have  been  at  any  given  time  something 
like  six  hundred  English   rectors   and  vicars  living  at 

*  Rashdall,  "  Universities  of  Europe,"  ii.,  613,  701.  Merely  to  reckon 
the  number  of  years  theoretically  required  for  the  different  degrees,  and 
to  argue  from  this  to  the  solid  education  of  the  medieval  priest  (as  has 
sometimes  been  done),  is  to  ignore  the  mass  of  unimpeachable  evidence 
collected  by  Dr.  Rashdall.  Only  an  extremely  small  fraction  of  the 
students  took  any  theological  degree  whatever. 


302  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

the  Universities  with  the  licence  of  their  bishops ;  and 
the  Registers  show  definite  traces  of  others  who  took 
French  leave.  Here,  then,  was  a  society  in  which  boys 
were  herded  together  with  men  of  middle  or  advanced 
age,  and  in  which  the  seniors  were  often  the  least 
decorous.*  No  doubt  the  average  boy  escaped  the 
company  of  those  "  chamberdekyns,"  of  whom  the 
Oxford  authorities  complained  that  "  they  sleep  all  day, 
and  prowl  by  night  about  taverns  and  houses  of  ill 
fame  and  occasions  of  homicide  "  ;  no  doubt  it  was  only 
a  small  minority  at  Cambridge  of  whom  men  complained 
to  Parliament  that  they  scoured  the  country  in  gangs 
for  purposes  of  robbery  and  blackmail.  But  the  average 
man  cared  no  more  for  learning  then  than  now,  and 
had  far  fewer  opportunities  of  study.  The  athleticism 
which  is  the  refuge  of  modern  idleness  was  severely 
discouraged  by  the  authorities,  while  the  tavern  was 
always  open.  The  Bishop  himself,  by  instituting  this 
boy  in  his  teens,  had  given  his  approval  to  the  vicious 
system  which  gave  the  prizes  of  the  Church  to  the  rich 
and  powerful,  and  left  a  heavy  proportion  of  the  parish 
work  to  be  done  by  a  lower  class  of  hireling  "chaplains." 
These  latter  (who,  like  Chaucer's  Poor  Parson,  were 
mostly  drawn  from  the  peasant  class)  were  willing  to 
accept  the  lowest  possible  wages  and  the  smallest 
possible  chance  of  preferment  for  the  sake  of  a  position 
which,  at  the  worst,  put  them  far  above  their  father 
or  their  brothers ;  and  meanwhile  the  more  fortunate 
rectors,  little  controlled  either  by  their  bishops  or  by 
public  opinion,  drifted  naturally  into  the  position  of 
squarsons,  hunters,  and  farmers.  The  large  majority 
were  precluded  from  almost  all  intellectual  enjoyments 
by  their  imperfect  education  and  the  scarcity  of  books. 
The  regular  and  healthy  home  life,  which  has  kept  so 

*  The  list  of  indictments  for  grave  offences  in  "  Munim.  Acad."  (R.S.), 
vol.  ii.,  contains  a  very  large  proportion  of  graduates,  chaplains,  and 
masters  of  Halls  ;  and  Gerson  frequently  speaks  with  bitter  indignation 
of  the  number  of  Parisian  scholars  who  were  debauched  by  their  masters. 


PRIESTS   AND   PEOPLE  303 

many  an  idle  man  straight  in  the  world,  was  denied  to 
these  men,  who  were  professionally  pledged  to  live  as 
the  angels  of  God,  while  they  stood  exposed  to  every 
worldly  temptation.  The  consequence  was  inevitable  ; 
orthodox  writers  for  centuries  before  the  Reformation 
complained  that  the  real  fount  and  origin  of  heresy  lay 
in  the  evil  lives  of  the  clergy.  In  outlying  districts  like 
Wales,  probably  also  in  Ireland,  and  certainly  in  parts 
of  Germany,  clerical  concubinage  was  systematically 
tolerated,  and  only  taxed  for  the  benefit  of  the  bishop's 
or  archdeacon's  purse.  The  reader  has  already  seen 
that  this  same  system  was  often  practised  in  England, 
though  with  less  cynical  effrontery. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CONCLUSION 

"  Although  the  style  [of  Chaucer]  for  the  antiquity  may  distaste  you, 
yet  as  under  a  bitter  and  rough  rind  there  lieth  a  delicate  kernel  of 
conceit  and  sweet  invention." — Henry  Peach  am,  "  The  Compleat 
Gentleman,"  1622 

INTO  this  state  of  things  suddenly  came  the  "  Black 
Death"  of  1348-9,  the  most  terrible  plague  that  ever 
raged  in  Christendom.  This  was  at  once  hailed  by 
moralists  as  God's  long-delayed  punishment  upon  a 
society  rotten  to  the  core.  At  first  the  world  was 
startled  into  seriousness.  Many  of  the  clergy  fought 
the  plague  with  that  self-sacrificing  devotion  which, 
in  all  denominations,  a  large  fraction  of  the  Christian 
clergy  has  always  shown  at  similar  moments.  But 
there  is  no  evidence  to  show  that  the  priests  died  in 
sensibly  larger  proportions  than  their  flocks ;  and  many 
contemporary  chroniclers  expressly  record  that  the 
sick  were  commonly  deserted  even  by  their  spiritual 
pastors.  After  the  first  shock  was  over,  the  multitude 
relapsed  into  a  licence  proportionate  to  their  first 
terror — a  reaction  described  most  vividly  by  Boccaccio, 
but  with  equal  emphasis  by  other  chroniclers.  Many 
good  men,  in  their  bitter  disappointment,  complained 
that  the  world  was  grown  more  careless  and  irreligious 
than  before  the  Plague;  but  this  can  hardly  be  the 
verdict  of  most  modern  students  who  look  carefully 
into  the  mass  of  surviving  evidence. 

To  begin  with,  the  Black  Death  dealt  a  fatal  blow 
to  that  old  vicious  system  of  boy-rectors.  Half  the 
population  perished  in  the  plague,  half  the  livings  went 
suddenly  begging ;  and  in  the  Church,  as  on  the  farm, 


CONCLUSION  305 

labour  was  at  a  sudden  premium.  Such  curates  as 
survived  dropped  naturally  into  the  vacant  rectories ; 
and,  side  by  side  with  Acts  of  Parliament  designed  to 
keep  the  labourer  down  to  his  old  wages,  we  find  archi- 
episcopal  decrees  against  the  "unbridled  cupidity"  of 
the  clergy,  who  by  their  pernicious  example  encouraged 
this  demand  of  the  lower  classes  for  higher  wages. 
The  incumbent,  who  ought  to  be  only  too  thankful  that 
God  has  spared  his  life,  takes  advantage  of  the  present 
stress  to  desert  his  parish  and  run  after  Mass-money.* 
Chaplains,  again,  are  "not  content  with  their  competent 
and  accustomed  salaries,"  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
were  sometimes  no  higher  than  the  wages  of  a  common 
archer  or  a  farm  bailiff.  But  the  economic  movement 
was  irresistible ;  and  the  Registers  from  this  time 
forward  show  an  extraordinary  increase  in  the  number 
of  priests  instituted  to  livings.  In  the  same  lists  where 
the  priests  were  formerly  only  thirty- seven  per  cent,  of 
the  whole,  their  proportion  rises  during  and  after  the 
Pestilence  to  seventy-four  per  cent.  The  Black  Death 
did  in  one  year  what  the  Ecumenical  Council  of  Lyons 
had  conspicuously  failed  to  do,  though  summoned  by 
a  great  reforming  Pope  and  inspired  by  such  zealous 
disciplinarians  as  St.  Bonaventura  and  his  fellow- 
Franciscan,  Eudes  Rigaud  of  Rouen. 

Again,  the  shock  of  the  Pestilence,  the  complete 
desertion  of  so  many  poor  country  benefices  by  the 
clergy,  and  the  scandal  generated  by  this  quarrel  over 
wages  between  chaplains  and  their  employers,  naturally 
threw  the  people  back  very  much  upon  their  own 
religious     resources.      The    lay    control    over     parish 

*  In  Chaucer's  words — 

He  set  .  .  .  his  benefice  to  hire 
And  left  his  sheep  encumbred  in  the  mire, 
And  ran  to  London,  unto  Sainte  Paul's 
To  seeken  him  a  chanterie  for  souls. 

The  Archbishop's  decree  may  be  found  in  the  "  Register  of  Bp.  de 
Salopia,"  p.  639  ;  cf.  694  (Somerset  Record  Society). 
X 


306  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

finances  in  15th-century  England,  which,  limited  as  it 
was,  still  excites  the  wonder  of  modern  Catholicism, 
probably  dated  from  this  period.  Men  no  longer  gave 
much  to  monks,  or  even  (in  comparison  with  past  times) 
to  friars;  but  they  now  devoted  their  main  religious 
energies  to  beautifying  and  endowing  their  own  parish 
churches,  which  became  far  larger  and  more  richly 
furnished  in  the  15th  century  than  in  the  13th.  More- 
over, Abbot  Gasquet  is  probably  right  in  attributing 
to  the  Black  Death  the  rise  of  a  new  tone  in  orthodox 
religious  feeling,  which  "was  characterized  by  a  [more] 
devotional  and  more  self-reflective  cast  than  previously." 
There  was  every  probability  of  such  a  religious  change ; 
all  earnest  men  had  seen  in  the  plague  the  chastening 
hand  of  God ;  and  in  the  end  it  yielded  the  peaceable 
fruit  of  righteousness  unto  them  which  were  exercised 
thereby. 

But  this  bracing  process  could  not  possibly,  under 
the  circumstances  of  the  time,  work  entirely  on  the 
lines  of  orthodox  conservatism.  When  we  count  up 
the  forces  that  produced  Wycliffism — the  notorious 
corruption  of  the  papal  court,  its  unpopular  French 
leanings,  the  vast  sums  drawn-  from  England  by  foreign 
ecclesiastics,  the  unpopularity  of  the  clergy  at  home, 
the  growth  of  the  English  language  and  national  spirit — 
among  all  these  causes  we  must  not  forget  to  note  that 
Wycliffe  and  his  contemporaries,  in  their  early  manhood, 
had  struggled  through  a  year  of  horrors  almost  beyond 
modern  conception.  They  had  seen  the  multitude  run 
wild,  first  with  religious  fanaticism  and  then  with 
blasphemous  despair ;  had  watched  all  this  volcanic 
matter  cool  rapidly  down  into  dead  lava ;  and  were  left 
to  count  one  more  abortive  reform,  and  re-echo  the  old 
despairing  ''How  long,  O  Lord!"  "Sad  to  say,  it 
seemeth  to  many  that  we  are  fallen  into  those  unhappy 
times  wherein  the  lights  of  heaven  seem  to  be  turned 
to  darkness,  and  the  stars  of  heaven  are  fallen  upon  the 
earth.  .  .  .  Our  priests  are  now  become  blind,  dark,  and 


CONCLUSION  307 

beclouded  .  .  .  they  are  now  darker  than  the  laity.  .  .  . 
Lo,  in  these  days  there  is  neither  shaven  crown  on  their 
head,   nor    religious    decency    in    their    garments,    nor 
modesty  in  their  words,  nor  temperance  in  their  food, 
nor  shamefastness  in  their  gestures,  nor  even  chastity 
in    their   deeds."*      Such    is    the    cry   of   an    orthodox 
contemporary    of   Wycliffe's ;     and    words    like    these 
explain     why    Wycliffe     himself    became    unorthodox 
against  his  will.      If  he  had  died   at   the   age   of  fifty 
or   thereabouts,   towards   the    beginning    of    Chaucer's 
business  career,  posterity  would  have  known  him  only 
as  the  most  distinguished  English   philosopher  of  his 
time.     The  part  which  he  played  in  later  life  was  to  a 
great  extent  forced  upon  him   by  the  strong  practical 
sense  which  underlay  his  speculative  genius.      Others 
saw  the  faults  of  religion  as  clearly,  and  exposed  them 
as  unmercifully,  as  he.     But,  while  they  were  content  to 
end  with  a  pious  "  Well,  God  mend  all !  "  Wycliffe  was 
one  of  those  in  whom  such  thoughts  lead  to  action  : 
"Nay,  by  God,  Donald,  we  must  help  Him  to  mend  it!  " 
No  doubt  there  were  errors  in  his  teaching,  and  much 
more  that  was   premature;    otherwise   the    authorities 
could  never   have   managed   so   nearly  to   exterminate 
Lollardy.     On  the  other  hand,  it  is  equally  certain  that 
Wycliffe  gave  a  voice  to  feelings  widespread  and  deeply 
rooted  in   the   country.      Orthodox   chroniclers   record 
their  amazement  at  the  rapid  spread  of  his  doctrines. 
"In    those    days,"    says    Knighton,    with    picturesque 
exaggeration,    "that    sect    was    held    in    the    greatest 
honour,  and  multiplied  so  that  you  could  scarce  meet 
two  men  by  the  way  whereof  one  was  not  a  disciple 
of    Wycliffe."       Walsingham    speaks    of    the     London 
citizens  in  general  as  "unbelieving  towards   God   and 
the    traditions    of    their    fathers,     supporters     of    the 
Lollards." t      In    1395    the    Wycliffite    opinions     were 

*  Quoted  from  a  MS.  collection  of  14th-century  sermons  by  Ch.  Petit- 
Dutaillis  in  "  Etudes  Dddides  :\  G.  Monod.,"  p.  385. 

t  Knighton  (R.S.),  ii.,  191  ;  at  still  greater  length  on  p.  i S3.  Walsing- 
ham, ann.  1387,  1392  ;  cf.  "  Eulog.  Hist.,"  iii.,  351,  355. 


308  CHAUCER   AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

openly  pleaded  before  Parliament  by  two  privy 
councillors,  a  powerful  Northamptonshire  landlord, 
and  the  brother  of  the  Earl  of  Salisbury;  the  bishops 
had  to  recall  Richard  II.  in  hot  haste  from  Ireland  to 
deal  with  this  open  propaganda  of  heresy.  Ten  years 
fter  Chaucer's  death,  again,  a  Bill  was  presented  by  the 
Commons  for  the  wholesale  disendowment  of  bishoprics 
and  greater  monasteries,  "  because  of  priests  and  clerks 
that  now  have  full  nigh  destroyed  all  the  houses  of  alms 
within  the  realm."  The  petitioners  pleaded  that,  apart 
from  the  enormous  gain  to  the  finances  of  the  State,  and 
to  a  proposed  new  system  of  almshouses,  it  would  be 
a  positive  advantage  to  disendow  idle  and  luxurious 
prelates  and  monks,  "the  which  life  and  evil  example  of 
them  hath  been  so  long  vicious  that  all  the  common 
people,  both  lords  and  simple  commons,  be  now  so 
vicious  and  infected  through  boldship  of  their  sin, 
that  scarce  any  man  dreadeth  God  nor  the  Devil."  The 
King  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  however,  would  not 
listen  either  to  this  proposal  or  to  those  upon  which 
the  petitioners  afterwards  fell  back,  that  criminous 
clerks  should  be  dealt  with  by  the  King's  courts,  and 
that  the  recent  Act  for  burning  Lollards  should  be 
repealed.* 

The  Lollard  movement  in  the  Parliament  of  1395  was 
led  by  Chaucer's  old  fellow-ambassador.  Sir  Richard 
Stury,  the  "valiant  ancient  knight"  of  Froissarfs 
chronicles;  and  Chaucer  himself  has  often  been  hailed, 
however  falsely,  as  a  Wycliffite.  The  mere  fact  that 
he  speaks  disparagingly  of  the  clergy  simply  places  him 
side  by  side  with  St.  Bernard,  St.  Bonaventura,  and  St. 
Catherine  of  Siena,  whose  language  on  this  subject  is 
sometimes  far  stronger  than  his.  As  a  fellow-protc^^'ge 
of  John  of  Gaunt,  Chaucer  must  often  have  met  Wycliffe 
in  that  princely  household;  he  sympathized,  as  so  many 
educated  Englishmen  did,  with  many  of  the  reformer's 

•   Kingsford,  "Chronicles  of  London,"  p.  64  ;  Walsingham,  an.  1410. 


CONCLUSION  309 

opinions ;  but  all  the  evidence  is  against  his  having 
belonged  in  any  sense  to  the  Lollard  sect.  The 
testimony  of  the  poet's  own  writings  has  been 
excellently  summed  up  in  Chap.  VI.  of  Professor  Louns- 
bury's  "Studies  in  Chaucer,"  In  early  life  our  hero 
seems  to  have  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course  the 
popular  religion  of  his  time.  His  hymn  to  the  Virgin 
even  outbids  the  fervour  of  its  French  original ;  and  in 
the  tales  of  miracles  which  he  versified  he  has  taken  no 
pains  to  soften  down  touches  which  would  now  be 
received  with  scepticism  alike  by  Protestants  and  by 
the  papal  commissioners  for  the  revision  of  the 
Breviary.  (Tales  of  the  "Second  Nun,"  "Man  of 
Law,"  and  "Prioress.")  Even  then  he  was  probably 
among  the  many  who  disbelieved  in  tales  of  Jewish 
ritual  murder,  though  not  sufficiently  to  deter  the  artist 
in  him  from  welcoming  the  exquisite  pathos  of  the  little 
scholar's  death.  But  his  mind  was  naturally  critical ; 
and  it  was  further  widened  by  an  acquaintance  with 
many  cities  and  many  men.  The  merchants  and 
scholars  of  Italy  were  notorious  for  their  free-thinking; 
and  we  may  see  in  the  unpriestly  priest  Froissart  the 
sceptical  habit  of  mind  which  was  engendered  in  a  14th- 
century  "intellectual"  by  a  life  spent  in  courts  and 
among  men  of  the  world.  It  is  quite  natural,  therefore, 
to  find  Chaucer  scoffing  openly  at  several  small  super- 
stitions, which  in  many  less  sceptical  minds  lived  on  for 
centuries — the  belief  in  Arthur  and  Lancelot,  in  fairies, 
in  magic,  in  Virgilian  miracles,  in  pagan  oracles  and 
gods,  in  alchemy,  and  even  in  judicial  astrology.  These 
last  two  points,  indeed,  supply  a  very  close  analogy  to 
his  religious  views.  It  is  difficult  to  avoid  concluding, 
from  his  very  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  details  of 
the  pursuit,  that  he  had  himself  once  been  bitten  with 
the  craze  for  the  philosopher's  stone.  Again,  if  we 
only  looked  at  his  frequent  poetical  allusions  to  judicial 
astrology,  we  should  be  driven  to  conclude  that  he  was 
a  firm  believer  in  the  superstition ;   but  in  the  prose 


310  CHAUCER  AND   HIS  ENGLAND 

"Astrolabe,"  one  of  his  latest  and  most  serious  writings, 
he  expressly  repudiates  any  such  belief. 

The  analogy  from  this  to  his  expressions  on  religious 
subjects  is  very  close.  At  first  sight  we  might  judge 
him  to  have  accepted  to  the  last,  though  with  growing 
reserve  and  waning  enthusiasm,  the  whole  contemporary 
system  of  doctrines  and  practices  which  Wycliffe  in  later 
life  so  unreservedly  condemned.  But  one  or  two 
passages  offer  startling  proof  to  the  contrary.  Take 
the  Prologue  to  the  "  Legend  of  Good  Women  " — 

A  thousand  times  have  I  heard  men  tell 

That  there  is  joy  in  heaven  and  pain  in  hell, 

And  I  accorde  well  that  it  is  so. 

But  natheless  yet  wot  I  well  also 

That  there  is  none  dwelling  in  this  countree 

That  either  hath  in  heaven  or  hell  y-be, 

He  may  of  it  none  other  waycs  witen  [know 

But  as  he  hath  heard  said  or  found  it  written, 

For  by  assay  there  may  no  man  it  prove. 

And,  again,  the  reflections  which  he  adds  upon  the 
death  of  Arcite,  without  the  least  authority  from  the 
original  of  Boccaccio — 

His  spirit  changed  house,  and  wente  there, 

As  I  came  never,  I  can  not  tell  where  : 

Therefore  I  stint,  I  am  no  divinister  ;  [stop 

Of  soules  find  I  not  in  this  register, 

Nor  Hst  me  those  opinions  to  tell 

Of  them,  though  that  they  writen  where  they  dwell. 

It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the  man  who  gratuitously 
recorded  those  two  personal  impressions,  without  the 
least  excuse  of  artistic  necessity,  was  a  perfectly 
orthodox  Catholic.  It  is  more  than  possible  that  he 
would  not  have  accepted  in  cold  blood  all  the  con- 
sequences of  his  words ;  but  we  may  see  plainly  in 
him  that  sceptical,  mocking  spirit  to  which  the  con- 
temporary Sacchetti  constantly  addresses  himself  in 
his  sermons.  This  was  indeed  one  of  the  most  obvious 
results  of  the  growing  unpopularity  of  the  hierarchy, 
intensified   by   the   shock   of  the   Black   Death.      That 


CONCLUSION  311 

great  crisis  had  specially  stimulated  the  two  religious 
extremes.  Churches  grew  rapidly  in  size  and  in 
splendour  of  furniture,  while  great  lords  built  them- 
selves oratories  from  which  they  could  hear  Mass 
without  getting  out  of  bed.  The  Pope  decreed  a  new 
service  for  a  new  Saint's  Day,  "  full  of  mysteries,  stuffed 
with  indulgences,"  at  a  time  when  even  reasonable 
men  began  to  complain  that  the  world  had  too  many. 
Richard  II.  presented  his  Holiness  with  an  elaborate 
"  Book  of  the  Miracles  of  Edward  late  King  of  England  " 
— that  is,  of  the  weak  and  vicious  Edward  II.,  whose 
attempted  canonization  was  as  much  a  political  job  as 
those  of  Lancaster  and  Arundel,  Scrope  and  Henry  VI. ; 
and  this  popular  canonization  ran  so  wild  that  men 
feared  lest  the  crowd  of  new  saintlings  should  throw 
Christ  and  His  Apostles  into  the  shade.  On  the  other 
side  there  was  the  "  new  theology,"  which  had  grown 
up,  with  however  little  justification,  from  the  impulse 
given  by  orthodox  and  enthusiastic  friars — pantheistic 
doctrines,  minimizing  the  reality  of  sin ;  denials  of 
eternal  punishment;  attempts  to  find  a  heaven  for 
good   pagans   and  Jews.*     Even   in   the    13th   century, 

*  "P.  Plowman,"  B.,  xv.,  383:  Jusserand,  "  Epop.  Myst.,"  p.  217. 
See  especially  the  remarkable  words  of  Chaucer's  contemporary,  the 
banker  Rulman  Merswin  of  Strassburg,  quoted  by  C.  Schmidt,  "Johannes 
Tauler,"  p.  218.  After  setting  forth  his  conviction  that  Christendom  is 
now  (1351)  in  a  worse  state  than  it  has  been  for  many  hundred  years 
past,  and  that  evil  Christians  stand  less  in  God's  love  than  good  Jews  or 
heathens  who  know  nothing  better  than  the  faith  in  which  they  were 
born,  and  would  accept  a  better  creed  if  they  could  see  it,  Merswin 
then  proceeds  to  reconcile  this  with  the  Catholic  doctrine  that  none  can 
be  saved  without  baptism.  "  I  will  tell  thee  ;  this  cometh  to  pass  in 
manifold  hidden  ways  unknown  to  the  most  part  of  Christendom  in  these 
days  ;  but  I  will  tell  thee  of  one  way.  .  .  .  When  one  of  these  good 
heathens  or  Jews  draweth  near  to  his  end,  then  cometh  God  to  his  help 
and  enlighteneth  him  so  far  in  Christian  faith,  that  with  all  his  heart  he 
desireth  baptism.  Then,  even  though  there  be  no  present  baptism  for 
him,  yet  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  yearneth  for  it :  so  I  tell  thee 
how  God  doth  :  He  goeth  and  baptiseth  him  in  the  baptism  of  his  good 
yearning  will  and  his  painful  death.  Know  therefore  that  many  of  these 
good  heathens  and  Jews  are  in  the  life  eternal,  who  all  came  thither  in 
this  wise." 


312  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

willingly  or  unwillingly,  the  friars  had  raised  similar 
questions ;  a  Minister-General  had  been  scandalized  to 
hear  them  debating  in  their  schools  "  whether  God 
existed";  and  Berthold  of  Ratisbon  had  felt  bound  to 
warn  his  hearers  against  the  subtle  sophism  that  souls, 
when  once  they  have  been  thoroughly  calcined,  must 
reach  a  point  at  which  anything  short  of  hell-fire  would 
feel  uncomfortably  chilly.  This  is  the  state  of  mind 
into  which  Chaucer,  like  so  many  of  his  contemporaries, 
seems  to  have  drifted.  He  had  no  reasoned  antagonism 
to  the  Church  dogmas  as  a  whole  ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
was  keenly  sensible  to  the  beauty  of  much  that  was 
taught.  But  the  humourist  in  him  was  no  less  tickled 
by  many  popular  absurdities ;  and  he  had  enough 
philosophy  to  enjoy  the  eternal  dispute  between  free- 
will and  predestination.  As  a  boy,  he  had  knelt  un- 
thinkingly; as  a  broken  old  man,  he  was  equally  ready 
to  bow  again  before  Eternal  Omnipotence,  and  to  weep 
bitterly  for  his  sins.  But,  in  his  years  of  ripe  experience 
and  prosperity  and  conscious  intellectual  power,  we 
must  think  of  him  neither  among  the  devout  haunters 
of  shrines  and  sanctuaries  nor  among  those  who  sat 
more  austerely  at  the  feet  of  WyclifTe's  Poor  Priests ; 
rather  among  the  rich  and  powerful  folk  who  scandalized 
both  Catholics  and  Lollards  by  taking  God's  name  in 
vain  among  their  cups,  and  whetting  their  worldly  wit 
on  sacred  mysteries.  We  get  glimpses  of  this  in  many 
quarters — in  the  "  Roman  de  la  Rose,"  for  instance,  but 
still  more  in  Sacchetti's  sermons  and  the  poem  of 
"Piers  Plowman."  Here  the  poet  complains,  after 
speaking  of  the  "gluttony  and  great  oaths"  that  were 
then  fashionable — 

"  But  if  they  carpen  of  Christ,  these  clerks  and  these  layfolk         [discuss 
At  the  meat  in  their  mirth,  when  minstrels  be  still, 
Then  tell  they  of  the  Trinity  a  tale  or  twain 
And  bringen  forth  a  bald  reason,  and  take  Bernard  to  witness, 
And  put  forth  a  presumption  to  prove  the  sooth. 
Thus  they  drivel  at  their  dais  the  Deity  to  know, 
And  gnawen  God  with  the  gorge  when  the  gut  is  full  .  .  . 


\VK>r\ii\s  ri;k  ai;i;k\- 

i:U     i  Ki'M    \}:ak    CIIAl  I  I  K-'s     I 


CONCLUSION  S13 

I  have  heard  high  men  eating  at  the  table 
Carpen,  as  they  clerkes  were,  of  Christ  and  His  might 
And  laid  faults  upon  the  Father  that  formed  us  all, 
And  carpen  against  clerkes  crabbed  words  : — 
'Why  would  our  Saviour  suffer  such  a  worm  in  His  bliss 
That  beguiled  the  Woman  and  the  Man  after. 
Through  which  wiles  and  words  they  wenten  to  hell, 
And  all  their  seed  for  their  sin  the  same  death  suffered  ? 
Here  lieth  your  lore,'  these  lords  'gin  dispute. 

'  Of  that  ye  clerks  us  kenneth  of  Christ  by  the  Gospel  .  .  .  [teach 

Why  should  we,  that  now  be,  for  the  works  of  Adam 
Rot  and  be  rent  ?  reason  would  it  never  .  .  .' 
Such  motives  they  move,  these  masters  in  their  glory, 
And  maken  men  to  misbelieve  that  muse  much  on  their  words."  * 

More  unorthodox  still  were  those  whom  Walsingham 
would  have  made  partly  responsible  for  the  horrors 
of  the  Peasants'  Revolt.  "Some  traced  the  cause  of 
these  evils  to  the  sins  of  the  great  folk,  whose  faith 
in  God  was  feigned ;  for  some  of  them  (it  is  said) 
believed  that  there  was  no  God,  no  sacrament  of  the 
altar,  no  resurrection  from  the  dead,  but  that  as  a 
beast  dies  so  also  there  is  an  end  of  man." 

There  is,  of  course,  no  such  dogmatic  infidelity  in 
Chaucer.  Even  if  he  had  felt  it,  he  was  too  wise  to 
put  it  in  writing;  as  Professor  Lounsbury  justly  says 
of  the  two  passages  quoted  above,  "  the  wonder  is  not 
that  they  are  found  so  infrequently,  but  that  they  are 
found  at  all."  Yet  there  was  also  in  Chaucer  a  true 
vein  of  religious  seriousness.  "Troilus  and  Criseyde  " 
was  written  not  long  before  the  "  Legend  of  Good 
Women";  and  as  at  the  outset  of  the  later  poem 
he  goes  out  of  his  way  to  scoff,  so  at  the  end  of  the 
"Troilus"  he  is  at  equal  pains  to  make  a  profession 
of  faith.  The  last  stanza  of  all,  with  its  invocation  to 
the  Trinity  and  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  might  be  merely 
conventional ;  medieval  literature  can  show  similar 
sentiments  in  very  strange  contexts,  and  part  of  this 
very  stanza   is   translated    from   Dante.     But   however 

*  "  P.  Plowman,"  B.,  x.,  p.  51  ;  cf.  Langlois,  /.  c,  pp.  211,  264-5. 


314  CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 

Chaucer  may  have  loved  to  let  his  w^it  play  about 
sacred  subjects  "at  meat  in  his  mirth  when  minstrels 
were  still,"  we  can  scarcely  fail  to  recognize  another 
side  to  his  mind  when  we  come  to  the  end  of  those 
"  Troilus  "  stanzas  which  are  due  merely  to  Boccaccio, 
and  begin  upon  the  translator's  own  epilogue — 

O  younge  freshe  folkes,  he  or  she 

In  which  ay  love  up-groweth  with  your  age, 

Repair  ye  home  from  worldly  vanitee  .  .  . 

"Come,  children,  let  us  shut  up  the  box  and  the 
puppets,  for  the  play  is  played  out."  But,  though  we 
have  nothing  of  the  reformer  in  our  composition ! 
though  we  are  for  the  most  part  only  too  frankly 
content  to  take  the  world  as  we  find  it ;  though,  even 
in  their  faith,  our  fellow-Christians  make  us  murmur 
"  Lord,  what  fools  these  mortals  be ! "  though  we  most 
love  to  write  of  Vanity  Fair,  yet  at  the  bottom  of  our 
heart  we  do  desire  a  better  country,  and  confess  some- 
times with  our.mouth  that  we  are  strangers  and  pilgrims 
on  the  earth. 

Indeed,  if  our  poet  had  not  been  keenly  sensible 
of  the  beauty  of  holiness,  then  the  less  Chaucer  he ; 
As  it  is,  he  stands  the  most  Shakespearian  figure  in 
English  literature,  after  Shakespeare  himself  Age 
cannot  wither  him,  nor  custom  stale  his  infinite  variety. 
We  venerate  him  for  his  years,  and  he  daily  startles  us 
with  the  eternal  freshness  of  his  youth.  All  springtide 
is  here,  with  its  green  leaves  and  singing-birds  ;  aptly 
we  read  him  stretched  at  length  in  the  summer  shade, 
yet  almost  more  delightfully  in  winter,  with  our  feet  on 
the  fender;  for  he  smacks  of  all  familiar  comforts — old 
friends,  old  books,  old  wine,  and  even,  by  a  proleptic 
miracle,  old  cigars.  "Here,"  said  Dryden,  "is  God's 
plenty;"  and  Lowell  inscribed  the  first  leaf  of  his 
Chaucer  with  that  promise  which  the  poet  himself 
set  upon  the  enchanted  gate  of  his  "  Parliament  of 
Prowls  "— 


CONCLUSION  315 

Through  me  men  go  into  the  blissful  place 
Of  the  heart's  heal  and  deadly  woundes'  cure  ; 
Through  me  men  go  unto  the  well  of  Grace, 
Where  green  and  lusty  May  doth  ever  endure ; 
This  is  the  way  to  all  good  aventure  ; 
Be  glad,  thou  Reader,  and  thy  sorrow  off-cast, 
All  open  am  I,  pass  in,  and  speed  thee  fast ! 


INDEX 


Abjuration  of  the  Realm,  285 

Aldersgate,  117 

Aldgate,  30,  56,  76,  -jl,  93  fif.,  116, 

117  ;  tower,  78,  266 
All  Hallows  Stonechurch,  'j'] 
Angle,  Sir  Guichard  de,  51 
Anne  of  Bohemia,  Queen,  56,  208 
Antwerp,  13,  14 
Archery,  232,  235,  236,  240 
Architecture,  1 19 
Arundel,  Archbishop,  142 

„        Earl,  311 
Attechapel,  Bartholomew,  26 


B 


Badlesmere,  Lord,  297 

Banastre,  Katherine,  184 

Becket,  St.  Thomas  \  142, 143,  169, 

288 
Bedfellows,  87,  140 
Belknap,  Chief  Justice,  264 
Berkeley,   the   family   of,    52,    179, 

.195  ff-,  239,  240 
Bishopsgate,  15 
Black  Death,  304 
Black  Prince,  17,  176 
151anch  Apleton,  78 
Blanche,  Duchess  of  Lancaster,  37 
Blountesham,  Richard  de,  96 
Boccaccio,  47,  48 
Books,  cost  of,  99 
Boughton-under-Blee,  167 
Brembre,  Sir  Nicholas,  60,  94,  135, 

193 
Brerelay,  Richard,  63 
Bribery,  200 
Bristol,  239,  240 
Buckholt,  Isabella,  65 


Bucklersbury,  16 
Bukton,  68 
Burley,  Sir  John,  5 1 
Burley,  Sir  Simon,  54,  60 
Burne-Jones,  29 


Cadzand,  133 

Caen,  T']  ;  siege  of,  248,  249 

Calais,  10,  174,  183 

Cambridge,  8,  ']'],  274,  302 

Canterbury,  76,  140,  143,  145,  167, 
169,  170,  271,  297 

Chandos,  Sir  John,  175 

Charing  Cross  Mews,  61 

Charles  V.  of  France,  33,  52,  122 
„      VL  of  France,  70 
„      de  Blois,  252 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  and  Aldgate,  56, 
93  ff.,  loi  ;  his  aloofness,  6g,  95  ; 
his  birth,  3,  15  ;  and  Boccaccio, 
47  ;  and  books,  95  ff.  ;  his  child- 
hood, 17;  clerk  of  Love,  222; 
his  Clerkship  of  Works,  60  ;  his 
Comptrollership,  54 ;  at  Court, 
173  ;  at  the  Custom  House,  76,  79  ; 
and  Dante,  43,  74  ;  his  death  and 
tomb,  73  ;  in  debt,  54,  59,  64,  65  ; 
his  debt  to  Dante,  45  ;  his  family, 
12  ;  his  favour  from  Henry  IV., 
66  ;  his  freshness,  114;  at  Green- 
wich, 62  ;  his  house  at  West- 
minster, 72  ;  his  last  poems,  68  ; 
his  literary  development,  137  ;  in 
London,  53  ;  loses  Clerkship,  63  ; 
loses  Comptrollership,  58 ;  in  love, 
22  ;  his  love  of  Nature,  112;  and 
Lynn,  15;  his  marriage,  27; 
optimistic,  10  ;  origin  of  name, 
12;    his   originality,   39,  45;    as 


318 


CHAUCER  AND  HIS  ENGLAND 


page,  21  ;  in  Parliament.  56  ;  his 
pathos,  246;  and  Petrarch,  46, 
48 ;  his  philosophy,  70 ;  and 
Piers  Plowman,  71  ;  his  raptus, 
54  ;  and  religion,  44,  149,  309  ff. ; 
his  retractation,  72  ;  robbed,  63  ; 
as  royal  yeoman,  27, 3 1  ;  as  squire, 
32  ;  his  times,  i  ;  his  travels,  35, 
40  ff.,  51  ;  in  war,  25  ;  his  wide 
experiences,  74  ;  his  wife's  death, 
59  ;  and  wine,  79  ;  and  women, 
119;  his  writings,  36,  56,  64  ;  and 
Wycliffe,  308 
Chaucer,  Elizabeth,  74 

„        John,  14, 15,  17,20,21,22, 

26,  27,  193 
„        Lowys,  55,  64,  73 
„        Phihppa,  27,  28,  29,  30, 
59,  96,    loi,    103,   104, 
178 
„        Richard,  13 
„        Robert  Malyn  le,  12,  13 
„        Simon,  283,  284 
„        Thomas,  31,  73 
Chaumpaigne,  Cecilia,  54,  55 
Chausier,  Elizabeth,  74 
Cheapside,  16,  81,  88,  89,  90 
Child-marriages,  198,  204,  206,  207 
Children  beaten,  215 
Chiltern  Hills,  117 
Chimneys,  86 

Chivalry,  decay  of,  190  ;  golden  age 
of,    189;     and    marriage,    202; 
theory  of,  188 
Church,  buildings    decayed,    297  ; 
corruption    of,  296 ;    talking    in, 
140 
Churchman,  John,  79 
Clarence,  Lionel  of,  13,  21,  22,  48, 

49,  52 

Clergy,  and  hunting,  280,  281 ;  in 
Parliament,  7  ;  unpopular,  306, 
308  ;  youth  of,  299 

Clerical,  criminals,  288  ff.  ;  edu- 
cation, 300  ff.  ;  immunity,  288  ff.  ; 
influence,  decay  of,  8  ff.;  morality, 
156,  157,  159,  197,  281,  291,  296, 
297,  298,  303 

CIcrkenwell,  264 

Comfort,  ideal  of,  191,  192,  257 

Compostella,  140,  141,  142 

Compurgation,  289 

Conscription,  234  ff.  ;  and  liberty, 
251,  253,  263  ;  and  peace,  250 

Constance,  Duchess  of  Lancaster, 
30 


Contrasts,  176 
Cornhill,  81,  107,  112,  291 
Crdcy,  232,  233,  238,  239,  240,  242 
Crime  and  punishment,  283 
Cripplegate,  77,  93,  94 
Crusades,  decay  of,  190 


D 


Dancing,  108 
Dartford,  154 
Dartmouth,  133,  134 
David,  King  of  Scots,  17 
Dennington,  13 
Despenser,  Bishop,  237 
,,         Edward,  49 
Dilapidation,  297 
Divorce,  205 
Douglas,  Sir  James,  238 
Dovecotes,  manorial,  196 
Du   Guesclin,  Bertrand,  241,  242, 
244 


Eavesdroppers,  83 
Edward  L,  6,  77,  122,  194,  213,  234, 
235,  290 
„       II.,  179,  254,  297,  311 
„      III.,  4,  6,  9,  10,  13,  14,  16, 
25,  26,  27,  32,  33,  35,  38,  42,  S3, 
59,   70,   88,    122,   123.   126,   133, 
172  ff.,  191,   194,  197,  234,  235, 
237,  238,  240  ff.,  249,  263,  275, 
292,    298;    bankrupt,     126;    his 
character,  173 ;  his  court,  33  ;  his 
marriage,  178  ;  his  Rhine  journey, 

England,  growing  wealth  of,  126; 
unsettled  state,  67 

English,  commerce,  122  ff.,  demo- 
cratic, 253;  fickleness  of,  134; 
language,  3  ff.  ;  language  in 
Cliauccr's  poems,  74  ;  in  war, 
24+.  254 

Epping,  116 

Exeter,  99,  182,  301 


Fastolf,  Sir  John,  211,  212 
Florence,  40,  42,  43,  4S 
Food  of  the  poor,  268 


INDEX 


319 


Foreigners  in  England,  123 
Forrester  (Forster),  Richard,  52,  94 
Frederick  II.,  Emperor,  190 
Free-thought,  44,  125,  309  ff. 
French   and   English    nobles,   33 ; 

language,  decay  of,  3  ff. 
Friars,  294,  298  ;  and  usury,  124 


Games,  109,  272  ff.,  275 
Gascoigne,  Chief  Justice,  211,  212 
Gaston,  Count  of  Foix,   175,  209, 

211 
Gauger,  William  le,  15 
Gaunt,  John  of,  13,  17,  22,  30,  ^7,, 
Mi  59..  60,  72,  74,  96,  227,  264, 

308 
Genoa,  40,  42,  78,  122 
Giffard,  Bishop,  278,  299 
Gisers,  John,  16 
Glass  windows,  83 
Gloucester,  Thomas,  Duke  of,  60, 

186,  187,  239 
Gower,  John,  52,  73,  117,  145 
Gravesend,  80 
Greenwich,  62,  64 


H 


Hampstead,  116 
Harbledown,  169 
HatHeld,  Wilham  of,  184 
Hawkwood,  Sir  John,  52,  242 
Henry  II.,  235 

„      III.,  72,  193 

„     IV.,  4,  59,  66,  67,  68,  72,  73 

„     v.,  73,  243,  278,  297 

,,     VI.,  311 
Heriot,  260 
Highgate,  116 
Hoccleve,  73,  175 
Holborn,  19,  115,  117 
Holidays,  273 
Holland,  Sir  Thomas,  248 
Home  life,  84,  96,  104,  218 
Hornchurch,  Prior  of,  78 
Hospitals,  and  bad  meat,  132 


Infidelity,  313 
Inns,  139 


Invasion  of  England  threatened,  94 

Ipswich,  12,  13 

Irreverence,  140,  141,157,  275,276, 

277  ff.,  297,  298 
Isabella,  Queen,  21,  51,  178 
Isle  of  Wight,  133 


J 


Jean  de  Saintrd,  23,  223 

John  XXII.,  Pope,  206 

John,  King  of  France,  17,  32,  33, 

41,  194,  197,  223 
Justice,  282  ff.,  and  money,  197,  200 


K 


Kent,  John,  80 

Knighthood,  of  boys,  212  ;  cheapen- 
ing of,  193  ;  decay,  242  ;  imper- 
fect, 252 ;  and  trade,  194,  210, 
211 

Knightsbridge,  115 

Knolles,  Sir  Robert,  265 


La  Rochelle,  battle  of,  133 

Lancaster,  Thomas  of,  311 

Langham,  Bishop,  279 

Laws  and  penalties,  129 

Lisle,  Lord,  198 

Lollardy,  popularity  of,  306 

London,  its  byelaws,  126  ;  citizens' 
furniture,  85  ;  city  walls,  77  ;  its 
churches,  82  ;  and  country,  114, 
193 ;  its  Custom  House,  79  ; 
gardens,  115  ;  gate  dwellings, 
93  ;  growth  of,  121  ;  its  houses, 
82,  84  ;  and  Lollardy,  307  ;  popu- 
lation of,  115  ;  power  of,  135  ; 
sanitation,  267  ;  sports,  275  ;  its 
streets,  81,  84,  88 ;  suburbs, 
116  ;  view  of,  145  ;  water,  128 

London  Bridge,  51,  145 

Louis,  St.,  190,  191 

Love,  and  chivalry,  217  ff.,  earthly 
and  heavenly,  222  ;  in  M.  A., 
22,  28  ff. 

Ludgate,  93,  116 

Lynn,  15,  17,  77,  80,  193,  238 


320 


CHAUCER   AND   HIS   ENGLAND 


M 


Manslaughter,  292  ;  and  punish- 
ment, 283 

Marriage,  ceremonies,  109  ;  of 
children,  198,  204,  206,  207  ;  and 
chivalry  202  ;  and  the  Church, 
204;  and  irreverence,  281  ;  laws 
lax,  206 ;  and  love,  227  ;  and 
money,  195,  206,  209  ff.,  227. 

Massingham,  John,  28 

Mauny,  Walter  de,  175 

May-day,  107 

Mazelyner,  John  le,  15 

Mercenary  troops,  241 

Mercer,  134 

Merchants,  tricks  of,  125 

Merchet,  260 

Michael,  St.,  Aldgate,  TJ 

Mile  End,  264 

Militia,  240  ;  and  liberty,  253 

Money,  power  of,  99,  132,  191,  200, 
258 

Moorfields,  15,  18 

Moorgate,  15 

Morrisj  William.  29,  81,  ^4, 

Mortuary,  260 

Murder,  89 


N 


Nations  at  universities,  6 
Nature  in  the  Middle  Ages,  104 
Neville's  Cross,  183,  238 
Newcastle  coal,  114 
Newgate,  61,  93 
Norfolk  pilgrimages,  140 
Northbrooke,  Bishop,  184 
Norwich,  48,  82,  129,  131,  236,238, 
265,  284 


O 


Oaths,  155,  163,  169 
Ospringe,  167 

Oxford,  6,  8,  84,  115,  274,  278,  300, 
301 


Paris,  83,  233,  300 
Parliament,  growth  of,  7,  9,    132  ; 
power  of,  58 


Paston,  the  family  of,  229 
Peasants'  Revolt,  261  ff. 
Peckham,  Archbishop,  290 
Percy,  Sir  Harry,  51 

„      Henry,  17 

„      Sir  Thomas,  51 
Perjury,  201 
Perrers,  Alice,  186 
Petrarch,  Francis,  48,  50,  166 
Pevensey,  176 
Philippaof  Hainault,  Queen,  13,  14, 

33,  178,  179,  180,  181,  183,  184, 

185,  253  ;  description  of,  181 
Philippe  de  Valois,  King  of  France, 

174,  191,  235,  242,  243,  245 
Philpot  or  Philipot,  John,  134,  193 
Picard,  Sir  Henry,  16,  17,  193 
Piers,  Bishop,  279 
Pilgrimage,  decay  of,  138  ff.,  171 
Pillory,  131 
Pisa,  43 
Police,  251 

Poor  and  rich,  257  fif. 
Poore,  Bishop,  277 
Portsmouth,  133,  239 
Priests  and  people,  260 
Privacy,  want  of,  88 
Processions,    88  ;    and   bloodshed, 

278 
Punishment,     corporal,     213     fif.; 

public,  91 
Purgation,  289 


R 


Ransoms,  198,  200,  233 

Reims,  25 

Rich  and  poor,  176,  254,  257  fif. 

Richard  II.,  7,  17,  32,  34,  51,  52, 
56,  58,  59,  60,  65,  66,  67,  73,  79. 
88,  90,  135,  17s,  187,  20S,  209, 
217,  255,  264,  266,  280,  308,  311 

Rochester,  159 

Roet,  Katherine,  30 

Rottingdean,  133 

Rye,  133 


Saint  Mary  Aldermary,  283 
Sanctuary,  283  ff. 
Scalby,  John,  59 
Scarborough,  134 


INDEX 


321 


Schools,  20 

Scogan,  Henry,  64,  68 

Scrope,  Archbishop,  311 

„       Stephen,  211,  212 
Serfs,  259 
Sluys,  10 

Smithfield,  62,  88,  264 
Somere,  William,  ^-i) 
Southampton,  249 
Southwark,  19,  115 
Stace,  Thomas,  13 
Stapledon,  Bishop,  89,  299 
Stepney,  116 
Stodey,  John  de,  193 
Stratford  bread,  1 14 
Strikers,  clerical,  305 
Strode,  Ralph,  117,  118 
Stury,  Sir  Richard,  26,  51,  62,  308 
Sudbury,  Archbishop,  90,  142 
Swaffham,  John  de,  130 
Swynford,  Sir  Thomas,  30 


Tavern  company,  92 

Thoresby,  Archbishop,  281 

Thorpe,  142 

Tottenham,  116 

Tournaments,  88,   197  ;  forbidden, 

243 
Town  and  country,  115,  120 
Trades'  Unions,  270 
Travel,  dangers  of,  41 
Tyler,  Wat,  19,  142,  145,  264,  265 


U 


Ulster,  Countess  of,  21,  27 
University,  6, 8  ;  discipline,  300  ff.  ; 

and  sports,  274,  277,  280 
Upton,  John  de,  283 
„       Robert  de,  283 


Urban  VI.,  Pope,  70 
Usury,  194 


V 

Vintry  Ward,  15,  16 
Violante  Visconti,  48 


W 

Wager  of  Battle,  213,  282 

Wages  of  workmen,  269 

Walbrook,  15,  16 

Walworth,  193 

War,  conscription  and  liberty,  133, 
242,  246,  251,  253,  255;  the 
Hundred  Years',  232  ;  losses  in, 
199 ;  private,  133 ;  ravage  of, 
246  ff. 

Wardships,  195,  197,  211 

Warham,  Archbishop,  143 

Wells,  87 

Wenceslas,  Emperor,  70 

Westhale,  Joan  de,  13,  55 

Westminster,  16,  32,  33,  57,  60,  63, 
64,  88,  89,  115,  116,  184,  189 

Winchelsea,  133,  239,  249 

Windsor,  21,  53,  61,  62,  64,  96, 175, 
176,  185 

Women,  beaten,  213;  emancipa- 
tion of,  220 ;  life  of,  107  ;  man- 
ners of,  109,  219  fif. 

Woodstock.     See  Gloucester 

Worcester,  289,  290 

Wycliffe,  8,  10,  22,  306,  307,  308, 
310  ;  and  serfage,  262 

Wykeham,  William  of,  274,  277 


York,  179   i{ 


PRINTED   BV 

WILLIAM    CLOWES   AND   SONS,    LIMITED, 
LONDON    AND   BECCLES. 


Jlieber  Hail, 

Library         DATE  DUE 

MAR  1  2  191 

14 

■fy  n  ■'^  ■ 

■fpr  ^ 

MAVX  o  19 

36. 

:,:.  2  4 '63 

APR  24 '59 

h'Av  ^^  "sa 

G*YLORO 

-..,.-co,s... 

A    001  330  640    2 


DA 
C83 


RIEBER  HALL  LIBRARY